9. LORAINE
1675 Words
The problem in small villages is that the slightest news item is a source of somewhat unhealthy curiosity. Even in the middle of the night. It doesn’t prevent some from wanting to feast on the misfortune of others. One can wonder how they could have been warned. The more the minutes pass, the more they are surely already thinking of the juicy gossip that they’ll be able to share tomorrow on the terrace of the Café de la Place, at Romy’s bakery, or Gina’s hairdressing salon.
There’s also a whole lot of officials who must be here. This is why we see the fire chief, the mayor, his first deputy, the president of the merchants’ association, and of course, my boss, arrive one after the other. All that’s missing is the priest for the picture to be complete, I suppose.
It didn’t take long for people to know that it was in Mark’s apartment that the fire started. And after the early evening scandal, some, like my boss, must consider that he’s getting a little too noticed.
“Loraine?” asks a voice on my right.
I turn and I see the last person I would have thought of meeting at this already late hour of the night: Ethan Boyle! What’s he doing here?
“I was telling myself that it seemed to be you,” he adds.
He has a wonderful smile is the first thought that crosses my mind.
“What… you live around here?” I stammered, a little surprised and, let’s face it, under a spell.
“Not very far, right next to the church,” he answers.
Papi Gus indeed told me about something like that.
Another thing, the church isn’t on this street at all. How was he warned about the fire? It’s certainly a bit rude of me to question him. But it looks like he’s reading my mind because he’s telling me:
“I always get up very early on Sunday mornings. I love to go for a run before I start this important day. I saw the commotion, and I came to see if I could help.
Indeed, I now note that, unlike the cohort of villagers in pyjamas, he’s wearing jogging pants, sneakers and a sports sweatshirt. Does he like to run on Sundays at 5 a.m.? Damn! As a policewoman, I don’t have the classic Monday-Friday routine, 9 am-6 pm, but there’s no way I’m getting up so early, especially on a day off, to go for a run. Make no mistake, I’m sporty, but… 5 am all the same!
“The firefighters are inside,” I said, if the huge red and white trucks hadn’t given him a clue. “I think all we can do is wait.”
“And pray for these poor people who see their lives going up in smoke.”
“Uh… yes, I guess.”
I glance at Mark. I wonder how valid the metaphor is. Anthony told me the reason why Mark fought in the early evening. It seems that in a few hours his life took an unexpected turn.
“Are they here?” Ethan asks.
My attention returns to him. How charming he is! A simple smile from him and I forgot my fatigue and the stress of the last minutes.
“The owners of the apartment? Are they here?” he repeats.
“Ah… uh… yes. There’s Mark, the young man in the shirt who’s over there on the sidewalk,” I answer, indicating the person concerned discreetly.
“I’ll go talk to him.”
I don’t dare tell him that, in my opinion, what Mark needs is to be left alone, and not for a stranger to come and chat with him. At least I think so. I sometimes have trouble reading people, especially men. And even, come to think of it, I’m not sure I’m an expert with women either. There are so few around me, anyway, that maybe that’s why I notice it less.
Ethan takes the few steps that separate us from Mark. I understand he introduces himself when he reaches out to shake his hand. I don’t hear what he’s saying to him, but I have the impression that the chef is unresponsive to his words. All his attention is focused on his building, and more particularly on the first floor. Who could blame him?
I suddenly think to myself that in other circumstances, seeing these two men side by side might be a rather pleasant sight... Let’s stop lying to each other, although it isn’t at all appropriate, I shamelessly watch the two male specimens. Quite delicious. Such a grouping of handsome boys in Locron doesn’t happen every day! At least a fire was needed for that. But since I have a little decency and probably a hint of selfishness, I refrain from calling my girlfriends and take advantage of this good time.
Mark and Ethan are opposites. While Mark is dark and mysterious, Ethan looks bright and approachable, at least that’s what I think of him, although this is only the second time that we’ve met. Mark is something of the tempting demon, with his appearance of contrasts: raven black hair, azure blue eyes, blood-red lips, while Ethan enjoys a more angelic beauty with his laughing eyes, athletic build and shaved cheeks. Up close, even at this hour.
Carefully examining the similarities and differences between the two men helps me to be patient while the firefighters bustle about. When they’ve finally got the fire under control and come out of the building, one of them walks towards me. This is Logan, who treated me earlier.
“You decided not to let us sleep peacefully!” he says.
I want to tease him that they are taking it easy at the fire station, but Mark is right next to us, and it seems out of place to joke when he’s certainly having the most horrible evening of his life.
“How is it inside?”
“Not pretty. I don’t think that the structure of the building is affected, it’s mainly the furniture. But it will take a hell of a lot of cleaning up!”
He glances at Mark, as if to make sure he’s not listening, which he isn’t, as he’s talking to the fire chief, and adds:
“I’m not surprised that it caught fire. There were candles everywhere. Even my girlfriend doesn’t have that many! And that’s saying a lot; she always buys more. She’s addicted to those things, especially the fragrant ones. I’m fine, she hardly ever lights them. Anyway, if you want my opinion, he’s not using his apartment anytime soon, our friend,” he said, pointing to Mark with his head. “Between soot, wax and debris…”
I observe Mark, who nods after something the fire chief says to him. He looks resigned.
The firefighters put away their equipment, and the crowd of onlookers gradually dispersed. My boss nods at me and leaves, letting my colleagues on duty manage the security perimeter. I have nothing more to do here either, and yet I’m not leaving.
“I understand that you are a friend of Mark?” Ethan asks me.
“Um, yes.”
I’m not sure the word friend is a good fit to describe our relationship. We are rather vague acquaintances, friends of friends. People who meet almost daily without really knowing each other.
Ethan puts a hand on my shoulder, which surprises me of course, but I would be lying if I said that I didn’t like the touch. He declares with the seriousness of a pope:
“Mark is going to need a friend in the next few days. I hope you’ll be there for him.”
“Yes, of course,” I answer without even thinking about what I’m saying.
I could promise him the moon if he keeps staring at me with his stormy eyes.
“Good. If I can count on you, I’m leaving with a clear conscience,” he said, patting me on the shoulder.
Why do men treat me like a labrador? He looks at the watch on his wrist and adds:
“I’m sorry, but duty is calling and I can’t stay.”
A voice in my head screams: No! Stay a little longer!
“I suppose you’ll try to sleep, but might I have the pleasure of meeting you again in the morning?”
Am I dreaming or is he offering me a date? No. I must be hallucinating, it’s the lack of sleep that’s playing tricks on me.
“Maybe... well yes,” I hastened to correct.
I curse myself inside, I mustn’t look too starved either!
“Great! So we’ll see you at 11 o’clock at the church.”
He smiles at me and I sigh. He takes a few steps, then strides faster. He had indeed announced that he was going to run! I watch him jog away to the end of the street.
I think I have to pinch myself. He has just given me an appointment in front of the church at 11 o’clock. He said he lives next door, logical. And then everyone knows where the church is, and for those who don’t, just roll your eyes and look for the bell tower!
“Rather atypical as a profile,” remarks a voice next to me.
It’s Logan, who’s done cleaning up his hoses. I frown, not understanding what he’s talking about.
“Boyle. He’s not the face of the job,” he says.
“Why? What does he do for a living?”
“Well, don’t you know? He’s the new priest!”
I blink, trying to figure out what he’s up to.
“Wait, are we talking about Ethan Boyle?”
There might be another Boyle who could be the parish priest and, oddly coincidentally, namesake of Ethan.
“I don’t know his first name, but the guy you were chatting with just now is him, the village priest.”
- Writer
