NINE MONTHS IN HIS BED

CHAPTER ONE “The payment on your grandmother’s account is due next week, Élise.” “Oh, thank you for the notice, Claire. I’d make sure I get it to you before then.” Élise said it confidently. That’s the type of delusion that comes to you when you have nothing, and Élise was sure she needed that. It was a good day. The afternoon sun spilled across the pale stone buildings of Paris, turning the windows of the cafés golden. June had settled over the city with a gentle warmth. People filled the sidewalks in light dresses, linen shirts, and sunglasses, while an occasional cool breeze swept through the narrow streets. The scent of freshly baked bread drifted from a nearby boulangerie, mixing with the faint aroma of coffee and the distant hum of traffic. Élise Moreau barely noticed any of it. She walked into the hospital with her head held high. The security man waved at her as she walked past. She had become a frequent visitor here because her grandmother, who had raised her after she lost her parents at the age of nine, had been hospitalized in this hospital for five months now. She had made friends with all the nurses, doctors, cleaners, workers, and patients in the hospital. From the time her grandmother had been in a coma, everybody had come to know her. They all liked Élise and wished her grandmother would get well soon. She met Claire, a nurse who was in charge of accounts, at the reception, and she had informed her of what she didn’t want to hear. She knew. She needed no reminder of her troubles. She just wanted to see her grandmother get better. “Mon chérie,” Marguerite said as she walked into her ward. Her grandmother was the only surviving family she had left. Marguerite had never complained about raising her alone. She had worked, sacrificed, and somehow managed to make their small home feel like enough. Élise loved her a little too much, and she knew it. “Mama.” She leaned down and kissed her grandmother’s forehead, then both cheeks, as her grandmother pulled her into a tight hug, at least as much as her strength could carry. She had just come out of a coma three weeks ago. What had started as an illness they thought they could control at home had become far worse, and Élise had never been happier because she was genuinely scared that she was going to lose her this time. Thank goodness she didn’t. Marguerite held her face for a moment. “You’re thinner.” “I am not.” “You are.” “Maybe you’re just seeing things.” “I’m seventy-two, not blind.” Alice walked in. She had been Marguerite’s caregiver since Élise couldn’t handle it. Alice had become familiar to Élise by now. Everyone at the hospital knew her. She was there almost every day. Sometimes before work. Sometimes after work. Sometimes both. “Bonjour, Alice.” Alice smiled from the other side of the bed. “Bonjour, Élise. Your grandmother has been waiting for you.” “I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t come yesterday.” Marguerite frowned. “Again with the apologies.” “I was at work.” “You should sleep sometimes.” “I sleep,” Élise said. “When?” Élise smiled. “Whenever I find time.” Marguerite shook her head. Alice finished arranging the bedside table. “She ate most of her lunch.” “Most?” “Don’t start,” Marguerite warned. Élise laughed. “I’m not starting anything.” She reached for her grandmother’s hand. Alice picked up the tray. “I’ll leave you two alone,” Alice said, heading for the door. “Thank you, Alice,” Élise said. “Of course.” Once Alice left, Élise pulled the chair closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?” “Better,” she said. “Really?” “Yes.” “Any pain?” Élise asked, trying to readjust the pillow under Marguerite’s head. “No.” Élise nodded, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. Marguerite studied her. “You look worried.” “I’m fine.” Marguerite gave her an offended look. “I follow instructions.” “You hide biscuits under your pillow.” “That happened once.” “Twice.” “Three times,” Marguerite admitted. They both laughed. For a moment, the weight in the room disappeared. Then Marguerite’s expression softened. “Come home with me.” Élise’s smile faded. “Mamie…” “I don’t want you destroying yourself over hospital bills.” “I want you properly taken care of.” “And I want you to have a life.” “I have a life.” “You have two jobs, unpaid bills, and a stack of rejection letters from publishing houses.” Élise looked away. Marguerite reached for her hand. “You’ve always wanted to write.” “I still do.” “Then don’t give up.” “I won’t.” “Promise?” Élise squeezed her hand. “Promis.” Marguerite smiled. “Good girl.” Élise leaned down and kissed her forehead again. “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll find a way.” Marguerite looked at her for a long moment. “You always say that.” “Because it’s true.” Her grandmother sighed. Eventually, after another round of arguments, Élise managed to convince her that she wasn’t ready to take her home yet. At least not until the doctors agreed. When she finally left the hospital, the sun had begun its slow descent over the city. But she couldn’t care less about that because she had bills to pay. She walked along the street. She might be twenty-five, but she was already making plans ahead, and a lot had to do with her immediate future. Absent-minded but still walking toward the bus stop to take the next bus to her next job, she realized she had some time left and decided to use the forty-five minutes to stop by a coffee shop at the end of the street. “Non… non, non, non. This makes absolutely no sense.” He looked irritated. Very irritated. He was reading the same page repeatedly, muttering under his breath. Élise glanced at him. He didn’t notice. He turned the page. “This character is supposed to be in love with her. Why does he sound like he wants to murder her?” Élise bit back a laugh. The man ran a hand through his hair. “This is terrible.” He stood abruptly. At the same moment, Élise stepped into his path. He turned too quickly. They collided. Hard.