Picking Up The Pieces

Chapter 6

“Hi, Dad,” I called into the pay phone receiver.

“Jill, where are you?”

“I’m in Europe right now.” I said.

“You’d better talk to your mother,” he said. “Neil phoned and now she has something to tell you. I can’t remember all the details. I’ll put her on.”

My mother took the telephone and asked me where I was and didn’t I know what day it is, and how did I get there; wasn’t I supposed to be on my way to London or somewhere?

“Give me a minute, and I’ll explain,” I shouted, cutting her off. I watched the time on the pay card counting down while I told her, in as few words as possible, the events of the previous two days.

Marcel had explained to me that he had no plans to stop until Narbonne, almost at the Spanish border. I also discovered that beyond a few phrases like, “No problem, hey man, okay, and Coca Cola,” Marcel spoke no English, yet in spite of our language differences, we managed to carry on a conversation. Marcel explained that he drove truck for his uncle’s company during the summers while he was off from university where he studied architecture.

A couple of hours after our narrow escape from Claire and her companion, we pulled into one of those mega rest stops on the Autoroute. I thought that if Neil needed to find me, he might contact my mother so I called to see if she knew anything. Neil’s message was simply to email Dennis.

“Do you know Dennis’ email address?” my Mom asked.

“Yes, I do, and as soon as I find a computer, I’ll email him.” I wished her a hug, placed the receiver back on the cradle and looked around. A central walkway led through the main rest stop building and contained four pay phones, a news kiosk and a garbage can. Doors led off it to a cafeteria, a small convenience store and restrooms. Shouldering my bag, I went into the store and bought a bottle of water, a bag of salted almonds and two apples.

The metallic red cab of Marcel’s truck glowed in the morning sun, making it easy to spot in the immense parking lot. Marcel had already invited me to join him for as long as I needed to because, frankly, I think he appreciated the company. Since I had no idea where to go next, I hoped that Dennis could help. I found Marcel under his truck with a wrench in his hand banging on the undercarriage. I leaned down and peered at him.

“Is everything all right there?” I asked.

“Ah, oui, oui, Madame. C’est bon, oui,” he answered, rolling out from under the vehicle and brushing gravel from his clothes. “No problem. No finis, Madame,” he said looking apologetic as he headed around to the far side of the truck and rolled beneath it again. I sat down on a nearby curb and polished an apple. The sunshine felt warm on my face and glinted off the apple’s gleaming skin. Sinking my teeth into the crisp, fresh fruit, I leaned against a pole and closed my eyes. Marcel had told me he planned to arrive in Narbonne that evening. He would unload the truck, find somewhere to spend the night, then pick up another load in the morning and head north again.

I had to find a computer with internet to email Dennis. I had missed my trip to London and had no idea if I should stop in the city of Tours. Claire had told me that I was to meet someone there but who knew whether that was true? I would have to ask Marcel if he could help me find an internet café. For the moment, however, there was nothing I could do until Marcel was ready to go, so I thought I might as well relax and enjoy the sunshine. I opened my eyes, took another bite of my apple, and saw Claire’s car pull into the parking lot.

I drew in my breath so fast that I choked on the bite of apple. Leaping to my feet, doubled over and coughing, I ran toward the truck. Dodging behind a nearby car, I called in a loud whisper, “Marcel, Marcel”. He edged out from beneath the truck again, wiping his hands on a greasy rag, and lay on the gravel staring up at me.