Lost and Found (27 page)

"It's Andee Bell. Please tell whoever is here to see me that I'm working. I won't be accepting visitors."

"Yes, Ms. Bell. I'll relay the message. But the gentleman seems concerned."

"I'm fine. Thank him for his concern."

I hang up.

There is work to do.

AT 3:30, I CLIMB
the stone steps to the Bouvier residence and ring the bell. A maid answers the door and escorts me up the stairs to Brigitte's home office, where Brigitte greets me.

"Andee, right on time. Please, have a seat." She motions to a round table in the corner of the office. "Coffee or tea?" There is a sterling coffee and tea service set on her antique French desk, along with a plate of . . . cookies?

"No, thank you." I pull a file folder and a yellow legal pad from my briefcase and set it on the table in front of me. I'm here for business, not a flippin' tea party. But Brigitte turns to the desk and pours herself a cup of tea and then leans against the desk while sipping said tea.

She lifts her cup and says, "Mariage Fères—a French tea. Just a hint of vanilla."

I look at my watch. "I'm on a tight schedule this afternoon."

She raises a manicured eyebrow and clicks her nails on her china teacup. "Well, I'd hate to keep you."

What is this? She's the one who called the meeting. Her son isn't even cold yet and she wants to socialize? You're a piece of work, lady.
I take a pen from my briefcase, and sit poised for business. "I was under the impression this was urgent?"

She looks at me and her eyes narrow.

I better watch myself. I have a stake in this meeting too. "I want to devote all the time I have this afternoon to your interests."

"Merci, Andee." Her tone is as tight as her smile. "Let's get to it then." She takes a leather portfolio from her desk, reaches for her trademark Montblanc pen, and sits across from me. "I want information on Azul."

"I thought you might." Now we're on the same page. I open the file folder and pull out a sheet of information I've prepared. Before I hand it to her, I say, "There will be a stipulation we need to agree on first."

She eyes the sheet that I've laid facedown on the table.

"Such as?"

I lean back in my chair, and wait until I see her shift in her seat. She is anxious. Perfect.

Time to reveal what I'll require from her before sharing the details of the plan.

Do not torment yourself because you do not always feel that you trust Him or feel His presence with you.

JEANNE GUYON

AFTER LEAVING MATTHEW'S
office, I check my phone and notice I have a message from Jason. I listen to the message while sitting in the cab.

"Hey, Jenna . . ." He sounds tired. "I know you have enough on your plate right now, but I wonder if you'd have time to grab a cup of coffee. I could use a listening ear. Call me." I glance at my watch and call him back. He answers on the first ring.

"Jenna . . ."

"Hi, what's up? Are you okay?"

He hesitates. "Yeah, just tired and . . . puzzled. I could use a female perspective."

"Okay, do you have time to meet now? I'm out—just leaving an appointment."

"Sure. Starbucks on Fillmore?"

"Okay, I'll see you there in fifteen minutes."

"Thanks, Jen."

I hang up. Is it Andee that Jason wants to talk about? I lean forward and tell the driver to drop me on Fillmore rather than at the house.

As the cab flies over the city hills, I think about Jason. Five years older than I, Jason was on the cusp of his teens when our mother died. He entered high school just a year later. He was a kind big brother and I adored him, but by the time I reached high school, he was off to college. Our lives didn't intersect much. It wasn't until we reached adulthood that we became friends.

Jason is comfortable with himself in a way I've never experienced. He was neither drawn nor intimidated by the Bouvier wealth or affluence, as I was. He enjoys simplicity, but seems to fit in wherever he is. His group of friends is a diverse bunch.

We grew up attending a small Baptist church in Napa. My parents were married there, we were both dedicated there, and my mother's memorial service was held there. Jason is still involved and spends most weekends in the valley just so he can attend church. I miss the little church—the hymns, communion, and the fellowship of other believers. I still attend with Jason, when I can, but Brigitte never approved of the church. Or any church for that matter.

It occurs to me that church is just one more thing I've sacrificed for Brigitte.

But Jason and I were both set on a solid foundation at the little Baptist church—my foundation in Christ has sustained me through adulthood and through the trials of life. It has done the same for Jason. So, even though I heard the fatigue in his voice, know he's still grieving Gerard, as am I, I know he will be okay.

It is more difficult, for some reason, to claim that same knowledge for myself.

As the cab pulls up to the Starbucks, I whisper another prayer for Jason. He is waiting for me on the sidewalk. I get out and reach to give him a hug. I notice the bags under his eyes and the way his jaw is set. I pull back from him. "You look beat."

"It was a long night. C'mon, I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

We walk into Starbucks and Jason motions to an empty table in a corner. I go sit at the table while he gets our coffee. While I wait, I savor the rich aroma of coffee and relax to the hum of people chatting.

When Jason returns, he sets a cup in front of me and sits across from me.

"How are you, Jen?"

Ever the big brother. "I thought we were here to talk about you."

"We are. But first, I want to know that you're okay. Or at least as okay as you can be under the circumstances."

"I'm okay. It's hard. There are so many unanswered questions about the future, but . . . it will all fall into place, right?"

"Right."

"So, what's going on?" I feel my brow furrow.

Jason sighs and his shoulders slump. "It's Andee."

"I wondered . . ."

"I had dinner with her last night and she shared something from her past. A trauma she experienced. I don't think she'd ever talked about it. I don't know that she's ever told anyone else." He picks up his cup and takes a swallow of his coffee. "Jen, it was intense."

"How'd you handle it with her?"

He tells me about the rest of the evening, how she fell asleep, and that she asked him to leave once she woke.

"She was in good hands, Jason. I can't think of anything else you could have done."

"Yeah, I actually felt like maybe we formed a bond through it, you know? I've never seen her that vulnerable and I hoped she could experience God's love and mercy through me. But . . ."

"But?"

"When I called her this morning, she didn't answer. I left messages on both her cell phone and home line. Then I got concerned, so I went to her building, but she wouldn't see me."

"Sounds like she let her guard down and maybe regrets it now."

"Yeah, but why?"

"I don't know."

He leans an elbow on the table and rests his forehead in his hand. Then he looks back at me, "Are you sure I didn't blow it somehow?"

God, grant me wisdom.
But I don't sense His lead. Instead, I just say what comes to mind. "I don't think it's about you, Jason. If she's waited this long to tell someone, then, I don't know, maybe the wound is just too deep. Too hard for her to deal with." I shrug. "I'm just guessing."

He nods. "I just hoped I could help. I've known there was something under the surface, you know? I hoped that if she'd let me in . . ."

"Maybe you just need to give her time. Drop her a note, tell her you're available when she's ready."

"Yeah, maybe." He leans back in his chair and sighs. "Thanks."

We chat awhile longer and then Jason asks if I've talked to Dad.

"He's called a few times since Gerard's service. Why?"

"I don't know—he seems distracted. Just wondered if he's said anything to you?"

I shake my head. "No, he hasn't."

"Maybe it's nothing."

As we stand to leave, Jason puts a hand on my shoulder. "You mentioned the future. Have you made any plans?"

Now it's my turn to sigh. "No. I'm waiting on Brigitte. We need to talk through Gerard's trust. Hopefully, that will happen in the next few days. I . . . I need to know how to plan, financially, and otherwise."

"What do you mean financially? Aren't you . . . set?"

I shrug. "I don't know for sure. You know, Gerard received a good salary from Domaine de la Bouvier, but . . . nothing like what you might imagine considering our lifestyle. Keeping up with Brigitte hasn't been easy. Gerard grew up with extravagance and that's how he lived his adult life. He always knew that one day, when Brigitte was gone, the company and her vast estate would go to him."

"Gerard did enjoy the finer things in life."

"Our personal accounts are almost empty. Just before he died, he gave me an incredible gift—did he tell you about it?"

It's Jason's turn to nod and there's a sparkle in his eyes. "The prayer chapel? He showed it to me the weekend we were in Napa with the two of you. It's beautiful."

"It is beautiful and it was so thoughtful, but it was expensive. On top of that, I'd lost the diamond out of my wedding ring—the Bouvier heirloom diamond. And after checking our accounts, I realized that rather than reporting the loss to the insurance company, he replaced it with our personal funds. The diamond was under Brigitte's policy, and I'm sure Gerard didn't want to tell her."

"Speaking of Brigitte, you won't stay with her, right?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Why would you stay with her?"

"Because Gerard asked me to take care of her if anything ever happened to him. I feel . . . responsible. Plus . . . it's hard to explain, but Brigitte's been a significant part of my life since I was thirteen years old. I can't just walk away. She's alone now. I don't want to stay, but . . . I don't know what else to do."

We get to the door and Jason holds it open for me. Once we're outside, he turns and faces me, his expression serious. "Jen, she's not your responsibility. She . . ." He shakes his head. "Never mind. You need to think of yourself now. Make a wise choice for yourself. Promise?"

"That sounds so selfish."

"Selfish? Taking care of yourself isn't selfish, Jen. It's stewardship—it's taking care of the life God's given you."

His words are new to me—something I've never considered. I nod, but say nothing. I'll have to think through what he's said.

He gives me a hug. "I'm here for you—for anything you need. And so is Dad. You know that, right?"

"Right. Thanks, Jason. You know, Andee's a lucky woman, whether she recognizes it or not."

"Thanks, Jen."

Once Jason and I part, I decide to walk the rest of the way home. As I do, I consider Jason's thoughts about Brigitte. He may not see that I'm responsible for her, but I feel a deep sense of responsibility.
Is my feeling of responsibility from You, Lord?

I wait, hoping I'll get a sense from God. An answer maybe. But just like in Starbucks when I prayed for wisdom, I hear nothing from God. That's okay. I don't believe in the vending machine version of God—I put in a request and He spits out an answer. It doesn't work that way. Instead, as I told Matthew earlier, I believe He'll reveal Himself in time—His time.

But still, all I've heard is silence. And it isn't the silence between two souls so comfortable with one another that words aren't necessary.

No.

This silence is different.

I twist the band on my left ring finger as I walk—my reminder that whether I sense Him or not, He is present. He is my Companion, my Protector, my Husband.

I shift my thoughts to Andee and say a silent prayer for her—for comfort and healing. God knows her needs. I wonder about e-mailing her again. Or rather, I wonder about Lightseeker e-mailing her again. Or do I wait? See if she contacts me?
What should I do, Lord?

But I receive no answer. The silence echoes in my soul like the tapping of my heels on the concrete sidewalk.

God isn't speaking, it seems.

I ignore the ripple of fear I feel.

The things you assume to be your virtues, God may see as faults.

JEANNE GUYON