Chronicles Of An Academic Predator - 8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

June 11, 1962

Columbus, OH

There was no use trying to hide how sad I was, so I didn’t even try. André sat solemnly next to me as I maneuvered my father's massive blue Cadillac through Columbus on our way to the train station. It was a nice car, but I had to plan the turns out because the thing was so massive, it couldn’t cut them as tightly as my Pontiac. I’d wanted to take my car, but my father insisted that we take the Cadillac, that way we wouldn't get any speeding tickets. I had no plans to rush, but I did it to humor him and prevent an argument.

Yesterday had been a whirlwind, with everyone doting all over André. My mother had thrown a big party last night and invited our entire family. We tried to be festive, even though it was a going away party. My parents gave André a really expensive watch with all those dials and gadgets on them, which would presumably be useful in the army. Tonto gave him a leather pouch that was water-proof, and inside she put pens and writing paper.

I'd snuck into his room last night for one last hurrah. He fucked me again, and it hurt just as much as the first time, but from an emotional standpoint it was satisfying beyond belief. If I had been going for pure sexual satisfaction, I would have just enjoyed kissing him and feeling our naked bodies in total contact.

We'd gotten to Columbus far faster than I had hoped, and here in front of me was the train station. I fought the demons that threatened to envelop me. André looked at me, his eyes moist too. “JP, I hate goodbyes. Do me a favor and just drop me off in front of the station.” I nodded. There was no need for me to go inside and for us to make a scene we’d both end up regretting.

We pulled up to the station, and I put the Cadillac into park. This was it, the moment when I had to watch the love of my life go away. I felt a tear slide down my cheek and cursed my lack of control. “Looks like the iceman is melting,” joked André. Then he grabbed me in a big hug. I just held on to him, even after he tried to pull away. He whispered “I love you” in my ear, which just made the tears flow harder.

I pulled myself away and wiped my eyes. “André, promise me you'll write. A lot.”

He smiled at me. “Of course baby. And you have to write me too. Just be careful what you write, OK? I don't think the army would understand, uh, about us.” That was certainly true, and it dawned on me that if he were outed it wouldn't just be a dishonorable discharge for him, he'd probably end up in Leavenworth. And with that he got up, grabbed his bag out of the trunk, and with a last smile and wave, he vanished into the station.

On the drive home I indulged in a true rarity: I allowed my emotions free reign. “This is bullshit! Totally unfair!” I screamed as I punched the soft empty seat next to me. It's not easy to find someone to love when you're queer. Or probably more to the point, to find someone to love you back. For two years I'd lived with the greatest guy in the world. For two years I'd pined away for him. And finally, in a fairy tale ending, he realizes that he loves me too. And we were supposed to live happily ever after; that's how this is supposed to end. But no, the fucking army has to take him away. Feeling him wrapping his arms around me, feeling the love and safety he projected onto me, I'd trade all my trysts, all my flings, just to have him back here with me. I couldn’t avoid feeling bitter. This just proved there was no God, or if there were, that he was one mean, sadistic bastard. I was like Sisyphus, destined to find love only to have it dashed from me as soon as I did.

There was a pretty park a couple of miles outside of Claremont, so I stopped on the way home to try and get a grip on my emotions. I parked the Cadillac and went for a walk in the woods, and since I was fortunate enough to be alone, I let myself go, and let the tears flow freely down my cheeks. I walked for fifteen minutes, then turned around to head back to the car. As I did, I wiped my eyes off, and resolved that my emotional breakdown was over and it was now time to pull myself together. Thirty minutes later, I was able to enter Claremont as the same calm, unperturbed JP that everyone knew. The pain, the agony, it was still there: it was just hidden.

June 14, 1962

Claremont, OH

I stretched languorously in my bed, enjoying the laziness of sleeping in. I really had nothing urgent to do. The last few days had passed in a kind of numb fog. I kept up appearances, which usually meant getting out enough so that I didn’t seem like a recluse, and then chatting pleasantly with my parents in the evenings. I hadn’t gone down to Dino’s, or to any of the other hangout places, but that wasn’t something I did on a constant basis, so I wouldn’t raise an eyebrows by avoiding those haunts. I’d spent the rest of my time doing physical things, which was unusual for me. I’d never been very good at sports, and I didn’t have much muscle tone, but I was an accomplished equestrian, so I’d spent most of my spare time riding. My mother had recently gotten a new mare that was yellowish in color, so my mother named her Beurre. We'd bonded in that weird way that man and horse can as I guided her through the hills and trails around Claremont. She seemed to sense my deep inner sadness, and the fact that my ass still hurt from that last fuck, and didn't cause me any problems.

The other activity that I found refreshing was swimming, although perhaps that was being a little generous. It wasn’t swimming I liked; it was floating around on an air mattress in our pool that I thoroughly enjoyed. It really was the optimal leisure experience; when I got too hot, I would roll off and swim underwater, enjoying the silence and the feeling of water surrounding me. I'd hold my breath under water for as long as I could, feeling the water envelop me like a cocoon. Then I’d resume my position on the raft and work on my tan. Last night I'd been particularly daring and I'd gone out skinny dipping after everyone else went to bed. The feel of the water moving around my balls, my ass, over my dick, was pretty erotic. It was a good thing it was dark.

I rolled out of bed and looked out my window, admiring the view for the umpteenth time. There was a new building going up downtown, one that would dominate the skyline. My father was building it, of course, and he planned to make that his corporate headquarters. It was supposed to be 15 stories tall, and was the talk of the town. Beyond downtown on the east side was the tall steeple of the Baptist Church, almost engulfed in smoke belching from the mill. This was my home, flaws and all.

I turned my eyes out to the lawn and the pool and saw Sammy staring up at me with a silly grin on his face. He’d grown into quite a handsome guy. I couldn’t decide whether helping his dad with the yard work or playing football was responsible for building those bulging muscles. I decided it was both of them. Sammy was waving at me but covering his mouth, as if to hide his laughter, but it wasn’t very effective, and it was pretty clear that he was laughing his ass off. About that time, I had the sense to look down, and saw my morning hard-on sticking out of my boxers. I was embarrassed and humiliated, so much that I shut the curtains with an angry tug, which only made me look more idiotic. I stuffed my dick back into my shorts and headed to the bathroom for my morning regimen, trying to forget my morning exercise in humiliation.

I took a quick shower, then got to work on my hair, getting it pretty much how I wanted it to be. My hair was never fully cooperative, and it usually required some work, but today it was pretty easy to pomade into shape. I put on some Bermuda shorts and a comfortable shirt, slipped on my thongs, and narcissistically admired myself in the mirror. I was starting to get a tan, something I usually did really well, assuming I had enough time to spend sunning myself. When I tanned, my skin got a nice golden brown, which nicely complemented my thick blond hair. The only thing left to do was eat, so I strolled into the kitchen, determined to grab some food and then get the fuck out of the house. My plan was foiled when Vella interrupted me. “JP, you got a phone call.” I took the phone from her with a forced smile, hiding my bad mood, and carrying that fake cheerfulness through to the phone when I said “Hello”.

“JP, it's Tonto. Listen, can you stop by and see me this morning?” Visiting Tonto was not unusual, but getting a direct request like this was less normal.

“Sure, no problem. What's up?”

“I've got a surprise for you.” I wanted to ask her what it was, but I wasn't going to let her, or anyone else, think I wasn’t patient enough to wait a few minutes to find out what this surprise was. I told her I'd be over soon and hung up, even as I pondered our phone call. It wasn't like Tonto to be so mysterious.

I walked out to the garage and saw Sam standing there, still grinning like the little asshole that he was. “I got your car all cleaned up for you this morning JP”, he said, and I saw the Pontiac gleaming in the driveway. The red metallic paint sparkled in the sun, bringing a genuine smile to my face. My mood was starting to change.

“Thanks Sam, that was really nice of you.” I eyed him up and down. He'd gotten tall, over 6 feet now. “You sure have gotten big”.

He grinned at me and said “You pretty big yourself” and started laughing. That made me blush a crimson red, which only made him laugh more. I couldn't help but laugh too, as I shook my head and walked to my car, my only motive, my only purpose, was to escape from this place and the embarrassment I felt.

I drove down the hill to the monstrosity the Schluters called home, marveling yet again how amazing it was that some people found Victorian architecture tasteful. I found Tonto in the kitchen, as usual, drinking a cup of coffee, looking very contemplative.

“Hey Tonto,” I chimed cheerfully, and walked up to give her a big hug.

“JP, thanks for stopping by. So when are you heading off to Chicago?” This couldn’t be why she wanted me to stop by, but I could be calm and patient and humor her with some small talk.

“Well, I can't possibly leave before the 4^th. I'll probably try to get in a brief visit before that if I can, or if that doesn’t work out, I’ll go right after.” I was tossing this out almost as a practice run, since I knew I’d have to have the same discussion with my mother.

“I’m sure that will work, as long as you’re here for the 4^th,” she said, giving me her own seal of approval. The 4^th of July celebration in Claremont was THE big event in town. It was pretty rare for local citizens to miss the event, and it had a lot to draw them in. There was a ton of food, a kick-ass fireworks display, and a good band or two. For me, it was even more important. As the scion of one of Claremont's leading families, I had to be there, on display.

“I’ve got a lot to do in Chicago. I've got to get situated, find a place to live, stuff like that. But I’ll make sure I’m around for the festival,” I said, hoping my mother was as easily persuaded.

“Billy won't be home for the 4^th,” she said glumly.

“That’s too bad,” I said sincerely. “It would have been great to see him.” She nodded, but seemed a million miles away.

“He said he had the best time with you in New York. That was so nice of you to go up there. You are such a good guy.” I blushed and she put her arm around my shoulder affectionately.

“We had a great time,” I said, then tried to find out what was bothering her. “Is that why you seem so glum? Because Billy won’t be here for the 4^th?”

“No,” she said, in that same spaced-out way she’d had since I got here. “We got some interesting news yesterday. I haven't even had a chance to tell your parents about it. That's why I asked you to come over.” She paused, and I said nothing, waiting for her to spill the beans. “Seems that Steve had a girlfriend in France.” No wonder she was so glum. It must be horrible to lose your child in a war. She always got this look of pain when she remembered him.

“Did you know her, or about her?” I asked, to gently prompt her. I didn't see why it mattered that Steve had a girlfriend in France. That was 17 years ago.

“No, I didn’t. All I know is that her name was Annette Bordet.”

“Was?” I prompted, picking up on that important grammatical tense.

“Yes, it seems she recently passed away. From what I gather, she was nothing more than a common whore, although perhaps I'm not being very charitable here.” She looked down into her coffee, her eyes became distant and sad, as she grappled with the painful reopening of old wounds.

“Well, that's all very interesting, but what does it have to do with you?” I couldn't understand why this was an issue. So what if Steve had a girlfriend and she died?

“Her son arrived here yesterday, from France. He brought letters with him from his mother, explaining that Steven was his father,” she said, and got a little happier at the mention of this orphan who somehow landed here in Claremont.

“What’s his name?” I asked, more to give myself some time to think than because of any interest in what this kid was called.

“His name is Stefan, presumably after his father. He's 16 years old and seems like a really sweet boy.” Now that she was talking about him, her features had softened, and her mood had considerably improved. I thought about the implications of Steve’s kid suddenly dropping into Claremont after all these years. This would certainly shake things up a bit and give people something to talk about.

I moved beyond the gossip impact and my suspicions began to emerge. “You said his mom was a common whore. How do you know he's Steve's son?” She wasn’t offended, because this was completely in character for me. I was always the skeptic, and unwilling to accept a conclusion without meaningful data to back it up.

“Well, he had two letters with him. The first was a letter from Steve to his mother, acknowledging that the child she was carrying was his and promising to bring them back to America after the war. The second was a letter from his mother to him, instructing him to take what little money she left him and travel to the US to find us.”

She seemed convinced, but letters could be forged. The Schluters are a wealthy family; it would not be a stretch for someone to dream up a scheme to relieve them of some of their money. “How can you be sure?” I asked, then explained my concerns to her.

“Wait here,” she said, not deigning to answer my question, and strolled purposefully from the room.

I got up, grabbed a cup of coffee and took a sip, even as I pondered this new development. I was mentally processing things, trying to figure out how to make sure this kid wasn’t a fraud, when I heard her walking back into the room with someone following her. “Stefan,” she said, “I'd like you to meet your cousin JP”. From behind her emerged a tall young man with strawberry blond hair. For all of my vaunted self-control, all of my renowned composure, I couldn’t maintain that façade this time. The coffee cup fell from my hand and shattered on the tile floors, even as my mouth fell open in shock. This kid looked exactly like his father. It was as if the portrait Tonto had painted of Steven had miraculously come to life.

Tonto laughed. “Now you see why your arguments are so irrelevant?”

I laughed with her. “I see.” Meanwhile, the young guy standing there was clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable. I chided myself for my bad manners. I walked over to him and held out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He shook my hand cautiously, and muttered something in French.

“How long have you been in the US?” I asked him. He tried to respond, but was having trouble. I wondered if he had a learning disability or something.

“My English is not good,” he stammered. I could have kicked myself for not guessing that he wouldn’t speak English. The kid had been raised in France, by a mother who probably had little money to provide for the both of them. It was probably not a priority for him to take the time to learn a different language.

“Then let’s try this,” I said, repeating my question in French. He seemed stunned at being confronted with his native language in the backwater that was Claremont, a look that changed to pleasure as he realized he found someone he could actually converse with. I decided to really blow his mind by gently hugging him while kissing him on each cheek in the French fashion.

“You speak French!” he exclaimed. His eyes were sparkling with excitement now. I paused to think of the trip this young man had made, from Paris to the US, with almost no English in his vocabulary. That, in and of itself, was exceptional.

“Absolument,” I said with a smile. He smiled back at me, a radiant and dazzling smile, one that some orthodontia and dental work would make perfect.

“That's the first time he's smiled since he got here,” said Tonto. “I was going to take him up to meet your mother. I figured that he'd enjoy talking to someone he could understand. But then I thought of you, and you're closer to his age. I was hoping maybe you could spend some time with him, help him get acclimated to Claremont.” She looked at me like this request was a huge burden.

“No problem Tonto. This was indeed quite a surprise. I never know what you have up your sleeve.” I turned to Stefan, and switched back to his native language. “My mother is French. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to meet you.” He seemed relieved that in this Midwestern cultural desert there were at least two people who could speak his language.

“I’m so glad you had a chance to meet him, and talk to him,” Tonto said. It must be maddening to have this grandson drop from the heavens and not be able to effectively communicate with him.

My eyes inadvertently fixed on the clock on the wall, and I noted that it was already 11:45am. My parents had specifically requested that I meet them at The Club for lunch at noon, and they both had limited tolerance for tardiness. The Club was Claremont's Country Club, which consisted of a golf course, pool, tennis courts, and stables carved into the side of the mountain not too far from our house. It would probably take me all of fifteen minutes just to get there, and that meant I had to leave at once. “I have to go,” I said to Tonto. “I'm meeting my parents at the club for lunch.”

“Ah yes, your lunch,” Tonto said knowingly. “You certainly don’t want to be late for that.” That was strange. What did she know about this lunch? I thought it was just a casual meal en famille, but it must be a much bigger deal. I felt my nerves begin to fray a little bit at all of these secrets and surprises lurking below the surface.

I explained my situation in French to Stefan. His face dropped considerably. I felt sorry for him. He finally found someone he could talk to, only to have that person leave after a very short visit. “Look, after lunch I'll come back and pick you up. We can go out and explore your new home.” His eyes lit up. I explained what I said to Tonto, and almost ran out the door.

I really didn’t have to worry about getting a ticket in Claremont, but I certainly tempted fate by the maniacal way I drove up the hill. I all but tossed my keys at the valet and only managed to calm myself as I walked through the door and spoke to the maître d’. My parents were already sitting at a table in the Club's restaurant, waiting for me to show up. My mother was more relaxed about time, but my father was not. He was always meticulously punctual, and he expected the people in his life to be on time as well. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 12:15. He would be within his rights to give me hell for being late, since I really had nothing compelling on my agenda whereas his schedule was usually jam-packed.

“JP, we've been waiting for you,” my father said, as soon as I got to the table. “Where have you been?” With his type-A personality, waiting for me must have taxed his patience to the extreme.

“Sorry Dad, I was over at the Schluter's meeting my new cousin.” Their eyebrows went up, and they had questioning expressions on their face.

My mother thought she figured it out. “Janice is in town with the kids? I must to get over there to visit.”

“Nope, it’s not Janice.” I was enjoying knowing something they didn't know, for a change.

My father was getting irritated; I was late and now being mysterious. I got to the point, just to placate him. “It seems that Steven had a son. He just arrived here from France.” I watched them digest that news. My father was calm like me, so I watched him go through the same contortions that I’d gone through as I’d tried to imagine the shock of having Steve's bastard son drop in to Claremont from the sky, as it were. My mother reacted in an entirely different manner. She was thrilled, with her maternal instincts fully aroused, and it seemed to take all of her effort to restrain herself from jumping up right then to go over and see him. I told them all about him, as much as I knew, but after the shock had worn off, their moods shifted. There was obviously something on their minds.

“Well I guess that's a good reason to be late,” my father said cheerfully. Then his mood changed again, becoming much more somber. “Your mother and I wanted to talk to you about our estate plan. More specifically, we wanted to talk to you about our house and what happens to it after we die”. There were any number of things I could have guessed they’d want to talk to me about, but I sure as hell wasn't expecting this. My parents rarely discussed their assets with me, especially those beyond ownership of Crampton Construction, and they’d never talked about their own mortality.

“Dad, I don't want to think about you dying,” I said sincerely. Oddly enough, he smiled at that. “It's your stuff; you do what you want with it.” I figured maybe I could dodge this conversation, which was bound to be unpleasant.

“Well, it's going to happen someday, and we all need to plan for these kinds of contingencies. We thought about it, and we've decided to leave the house to Jim. He's here in town, and he'll probably stay here. You're off on your own, into the great wide world, and I can't see how having a house in Claremont is something you'd need.” His tone was very matter of fact, so I just stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“That’s fine,” I said, and I meant it. They'd given me so much already, that if they wanted Jim to have the house, that was just fine with me. Jim and I had never had that jealous sibling rivalry thing, and there were good reasons for that. Jim and I had walked down different paths, and while we were close, we were too different to compete with each other. There was also a significant difference in our ages, and that tended to manifest itself in me deferring to Jim’s views and Jim watching out for me.

My father loved pregnant pauses, and he opted to use one of those here. He all but disregarded my comment, and just continued on with what he wanted to say. “At the same time, we want to be fair to you, so we talked about this and thought it would be nice to give you something to help you start off on your professional career.” It was my turn to pause and say nothing, as I waited for him to explain what he meant by that. “We wanted to make sure that you had a nice, safe place to live when you moved to Chicago, so we bought you a condominium close to campus. In addition to being fair to you and Jim, it gives us some peace of mind.” I stared at him, stunned and speechless. I had never thought they’d do something this grandiose. They’d done a lot for me: they’d paid for most of my education, they bought me cars, clothes, and gave me as much spending money as I wanted, but buying me a piece of real estate was in a completely different league.

My mother chimed in, misinterpreting my silence to mean that I wasn’t happy with their decision. “I hope you do not mind that we bought it without consulting you first, but your father had a friend who was building them so we were able to get a very nice unit.” I'd missed the term “bought”, past tense, in my father's statement, but that didn't really matter.

“That's way too generous,” I objected. “You have already done so much for me. You pay for everything, give me everything I want. I already owe you for that trip that André and I took to Paris, and for that plane ticket I bought my friend. This is too much.” I suddenly felt guilty, like I was taking advantage of them.

“You owe us nothing,” said my father firmly. “We're very proud of you. We've worked hard and been lucky, and what good is money and success if you can't share it with your family?” With that, my father handed me a brand new briefcase (also a present) with papers and floor plans for my new condo.

It was in a new high-rise building off Sheridan Road, not far from Northwestern University. I could almost walk to campus on a nice day if I was so inclined. It was very spacious, with three bedrooms and two and a half bathrooms. The condo was on the 20^th floor, on a corner of the building, so one side looked out over the Lake, while the other faced southward, toward the city. The views must be amazing, especially from the balcony, which faced the Lake. The building itself had a doorman, a rooftop pool, some common areas for social occasions, and a parking garage. It was spectacular, it was brand new, and it was all mine. Even as I ate lunch and went over these plans with them, I couldn’t stop raving about how spectacular it was. They smiled, and seemed happy simply because they’d made me happy. I kept going over the plans, marveling at this place they’d given me. It was a veritable palace. It was all I could do not to just jump up, leave right now and go to Chicago to see it.

My father finished his food and looked at his watch. He was so predictable. His designated time for family and lunch was over, and now it was time to get back to work. “Did you and Mom drive up here together?” I asked him.

“We did,” he replied.

“Then why don't you go ahead and take off, and I'll take Mom down to meet Stefan.” He smiled at me, appreciating that I'd just made his day a little easier.

“If that is alright with you dear?” he asked my mother, treating her with respect like he always did.

“Of course,” she said, and leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “That will also give JP and me an opportunity to talk about decorating.”

“Now that may just bankrupt me.” I was about to protest when he held up his hand and just laughed. “Have fun you two.” And then he was gone.

With my father gone, my mother and I spent a few more minutes reviewing the plans in more detail, then we got in my car and headed back to Tonto’s house. As we pulled up to the monstrosity, I could see Stefan looking out from one of the windows, from the room that once belonged to his father. My heart went out to him. What it must have been like, having your mother die, dealing with that grief, and then packing up and traveling to a foreign country where you didn't even speak the language. I couldn't even imagine how much fun immigration must have been. And on top of that, he made this journey not knowing what kind of reception he'd get even when he finally got here. I was betting that he spent most of what money he’d had to get here. It was entirely possible that he'd end up here and his grandparents would be dead, or completely reject him. That was a huge risk, and took an incredible amount of courage. Yet it seemed that the risk had paid off, in that he had found his grandparents, and he had been accepted. Still, even though he had found a safe haven, he could barely communicate with the very people he now had to live with. I wondered if I could have survived such a crucible.

We got out of the car and strolled into the kitchen. Tonto was there, going through some papers. It always amazed me that with all the rooms in the house, she liked to do her work and hang out in the kitchen. The asshole in me pondered that she wouldn't be so plump if she didn't park herself next to the food.

My mother greeted her warmly. They were good friends. My father told me that when my mother first moved here from France, Tonto took her under her wing and protected her from my grandmother, who was, to all accounts, a fearsome woman. I remembered both of my grandparents as stern, joyless people, focused on their business and their place in society. It was easy to see how they would have found my mother, with all of her charm, mildly irritating, to say the least. They had just started to chat when Stefan walked in, and I watched my mother react almost like I did. She composed herself quickly and rushed toward him, kissing him on the cheeks and hugging him.

“Stefan, it is so good to meet you. What you must have been through! I'm so glad you are here in Claremont. With JP away at school I have no one to practice my French with.” My mother projected warmth and it enveloped him.

“I have been trying to learn English, but it is not an easy language to understand, or speak. Words are the same, or sound the same, yet they mean entirely different things.” Both my mother and I laughed at that, and I became conscious that Tonto was left out, staring at this exchange she didn't understand. I turned to chat with her while my mother talked to Stefan.

“So you knew what this lunch was all about?” I accused.

Tonto smiled. “Yes, your mother told me all about it a few days ago. I think it's just fantastic, and you deserve it. We're all so proud of you!” She gave me another hug.

“It looks spectacular. I can't wait to see it. I'm thinking about heading to Chicago to check it out.” When I said this I sensed my mother tense up, her keen ability to listen to other conversations while conducting one of her own was amazing. In fact, I had been counting on it. My conversation was ostensibly with Tonto, but it was really with my mother. “I figured maybe a quick trip, for just a couple of days, to make sure I’m back here for the 4^th.”

She turned away from Stefan. “JP, you are only going to be here for a short time, so don't go for too long.” I beamed back at her. She'd given her blessing. I was ready to go home and pack. Then I had an inspiration.

“Maybe I could take Stefan with me?” The mention of his name got Stefan's attention. “He could help me carry some stuff, and we could explore Chicago together.”

Tonto looked dubious. “He just got here yesterday. That seems awfully soon to whisk him away. The poor dear has been through so much.” Stefan stared at us, oblivious to the conversation that so directly concerned him.

“What if I left on the 16^th, and we only stayed in Chicago for three or four days? That way he'd have a few days to explore Claremont first, and he wouldn't be gone for too long.” I was in problem-solving mode.

“That schedule seems to work,” Tonto said, but she still wasn’t convinced.

“If it's OK with you, let's ask him if he wants to go. He might want to stay here.” And cows could fly out of my butt. Who in their right mind would rather stay in Claremont rather than go to Chicago.

“Of course, we're talking about him like he's five years old.” She turned to Stefan, and then realized she couldn't ask him. She couldn't really communicate with him at all. I intervened.

“Stefan, I'm moving to Chicago this fall. My parents just got me this incredible condo, and I want to go check it out. So I was thinking that you and I could hang out for the next couple of days, and then, if you want to, you can go to Chicago with me for three or four days.”

His eyes lit up. “That sounds fantastic. I have heard much about this city with its huge buildings. ” Tonto could certainly understand “fantastique” in French.

I translated his response to Tonto, then really pushed my luck. “If you don't mind, I'll take Stefan off your hands for a few hours and show him around town. We can also make our plans to go to Chicago.” Tonto didn't look entirely happy about losing her charge.

My mother intervened. “Perhaps you and Barry can come up for dinner tonight? Then Stefan can meet Jack, and after dinner he can ride home with you.” Tonto agreed to our plan with a little unspoken reluctance, so the three of us opted to make our escape before she changed her mind.

We drove up to the Heights to drop my mother off, and during the entire trip my mother and Stefan chatted away in a very animated way. The Pontiac had birth control seats so he was leaning through the gap between them. He seemed so comfortable and animated when he was speaking French. Hopefully he would retain those traits when he learned to speak English.