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Authors: Various Authors
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was taking off. If he had been near enough to arrive last night... but he hadn't been, and from England he couldn't have got there in time to see her even if he'd borrowed a car and driven all night. That should have made him feel better, but it didn't. Her voice on the phone haunted him: "I'm frightened, Juju."
He sent a text to Mark: "My sister is dead. The baby is alive. Life is bizarre. From Uncle Jules."
'Uncle Jules': why had he written that, he wondered? Of course technically he was her uncle but with Claire gone, it seemed unlikely that he would see much of his niece.
He stood there in the October sun holding the phone until it vibrated with the answer: "I'm so sorry. Take all the time you need. Things are fine here, but call me any time you want, day or night. Thinking of you."
They had given him Claire's things, including her keys. He let himself into her apartment. It was as untidy as ever, but strangely airless.
She had left him a note on the table, telling him that she planned to call the baby Nicole after their mother. There were other papers there too. She'd had a will drawn up by a notary: that was uncharacteristically efficient of her. It named him, Jules, as the baby's guardian in the event of her death. He wondered if she'd had a premonition.
He knew Mark would be busy and tried not to call too often but sometimes he couldn't resist the temptation, including once late at night when he couldn't sleep. He was staying in Claire's apartment: not in her bed, that felt too weird, but on cushions on the living room floor. Mark reassured him about the restaurant: he had hired an agency chef who was working well with Carrie and everything was fine. But that wasn't why Jules called. He just needed to hear that calm English voice.
Jules's two aunts and a handful of cousins came for the funeral. Claire's friend Monique was there and she offered, almost greedily, to take care of Nicole. Jules was polite but he had never liked Monique and he couldn't completely forgive her for being out of town on that night when Claire needed her. He thought too that if Claire had wanted Monique to have Nicole she would have said so in her will. So he hesitated, even though Monique was in a good position, married and not working, with a small child of her own.
Monique wasn't the only person who wanted Nicole. The social worker suggested foster parents; one of his cousins wanted to adopt her and another offered to look after her 'until you can make a permanent arrangement'. Meanwhile, the baby was still in the hospital and Jules was going there two or three times every day. The staff had shown him how to feed and change her and he felt he was getting to know her. He could have picked her out from all the other babies now, even if they had been dressed the same and switched around. He even knew her voice.
The responsibility of deciding her future kept him awake at night. He called Mark and said, "If they would propose only one solution, I would go for it. But what can I do with all these choices? I don't know who will be the best parents for her."
Mark said, "What do you want to do? How often do you want to see her?"
Surprising himself, Jules replied, "I want to see her every day. But all the possible parents are here in France. I would have to sell the restaurant and move here, I'd have to start all over again."
"I don't see why. Couldn't you bring her here? We're all EU citizens so there are no immigration issues. You can afford childcare or, if you don't want her to live with you, she could be fostered here so that you can still see her. But there's no reason why you shouldn't take care of her yourself. You're probably assuming you can't because you're a man, but if you were her father, nobody would question it."
He saw at once that Mark was right. It turned to be very simple. Jules went to see Claire's notary who helped him complete the forms required to register Nicole's birth, prove that he was next of kin and get her a
He sent a text to Mark: "My sister is dead. The baby is alive. Life is bizarre. From Uncle Jules."
'Uncle Jules': why had he written that, he wondered? Of course technically he was her uncle but with Claire gone, it seemed unlikely that he would see much of his niece.
He stood there in the October sun holding the phone until it vibrated with the answer: "I'm so sorry. Take all the time you need. Things are fine here, but call me any time you want, day or night. Thinking of you."
They had given him Claire's things, including her keys. He let himself into her apartment. It was as untidy as ever, but strangely airless.
She had left him a note on the table, telling him that she planned to call the baby Nicole after their mother. There were other papers there too. She'd had a will drawn up by a notary: that was uncharacteristically efficient of her. It named him, Jules, as the baby's guardian in the event of her death. He wondered if she'd had a premonition.
He knew Mark would be busy and tried not to call too often but sometimes he couldn't resist the temptation, including once late at night when he couldn't sleep. He was staying in Claire's apartment: not in her bed, that felt too weird, but on cushions on the living room floor. Mark reassured him about the restaurant: he had hired an agency chef who was working well with Carrie and everything was fine. But that wasn't why Jules called. He just needed to hear that calm English voice.
Jules's two aunts and a handful of cousins came for the funeral. Claire's friend Monique was there and she offered, almost greedily, to take care of Nicole. Jules was polite but he had never liked Monique and he couldn't completely forgive her for being out of town on that night when Claire needed her. He thought too that if Claire had wanted Monique to have Nicole she would have said so in her will. So he hesitated, even though Monique was in a good position, married and not working, with a small child of her own.
Monique wasn't the only person who wanted Nicole. The social worker suggested foster parents; one of his cousins wanted to adopt her and another offered to look after her 'until you can make a permanent arrangement'. Meanwhile, the baby was still in the hospital and Jules was going there two or three times every day. The staff had shown him how to feed and change her and he felt he was getting to know her. He could have picked her out from all the other babies now, even if they had been dressed the same and switched around. He even knew her voice.
The responsibility of deciding her future kept him awake at night. He called Mark and said, "If they would propose only one solution, I would go for it. But what can I do with all these choices? I don't know who will be the best parents for her."
Mark said, "What do you want to do? How often do you want to see her?"
Surprising himself, Jules replied, "I want to see her every day. But all the possible parents are here in France. I would have to sell the restaurant and move here, I'd have to start all over again."
"I don't see why. Couldn't you bring her here? We're all EU citizens so there are no immigration issues. You can afford childcare or, if you don't want her to live with you, she could be fostered here so that you can still see her. But there's no reason why you shouldn't take care of her yourself. You're probably assuming you can't because you're a man, but if you were her father, nobody would question it."
He saw at once that Mark was right. It turned to be very simple. Jules went to see Claire's notary who helped him complete the forms required to register Nicole's birth, prove that he was next of kin and get her a
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