The Ruby Notebook (40 page)

Her eyes spill over with tears. “He went back to his childhood home. To face problems he’d left behind.” Wiping her cheeks, she takes a long breath. “His therapist encouraged
him. He’s been on new medication that’s lifted his depression. He said things are clear to him now. Said he has to take this trip. To become the person he wants to be.”

“Do you know where he went?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“Mexico,” Amandine says, sniffling. “On the coast, somewhere in the south. He’s mentioned the place before, but I don’t remember anything more—”

“Do you have his address? A phone number? Anything?”

She shakes her head. “He said not to worry, that he’d contact us when the time was right.”

“But he doesn’t know how to contact me.”

“Yes, he does,” Amandine replies. “From when you signed up for Illusion’s mailing list.”

Jean-Claude gives me a confused look. “Why do you suddenly care so much about Tortue?”

Slowly, I say, “It appears that he’s my father.”

Jean-Claude stares at Amandine, his mouth dropped open. “And you knew this, Amandine?”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “He made me promise not to tell anyone.” She turns back to me with a wavery sigh. “He asked me to put the stuff into your bag, Zeeta.”

I think of Amandine’s backflips, her cheek kisses—perfect distractions while she was slipping things into my bag.

“So, Amandine, you knew from the beginning?” Wendell asks, looking a little hurt.

Nodding, she turns to me. “Tortue saw Layla in the square and recognized her right away. He wanted to talk to her, but
he didn’t know how. Then, when he saw you, Zeeta, he said you look just like his younger sister.”

An aunt
. I have an aunt. It really hits me now. And probably there are more aunts, and uncles, too. It’s overwhelming, this tidal wave of information.

Amandine takes a deep breath and continues. “He suspected you were his daughter. When I found out more about you, and your birthday, he was sure of it. And that made him happy and terrified at the same time. He wanted you to know that he existed, that he loved your mother, that he cared about you two. I pushed him to introduce himself. I was hoping he’d do that at the dinner party. But he could only work up the courage to leave you the letters and gifts.”

So many questions are churning inside me, I don’t know which to ask first. “What’s his real name?” I whisper finally.

“José Cruz,” Amandine says.

My heart sinks. It’s one of the world’s most common names.

Wendell tightens his arm around me, comforting me. “It’s something,” he says.

I shake my head. There are probably thousands of José Cruzes in Mexico. I don’t even know his second last name. And since he hasn’t lived there for years, there probably wouldn’t be any useful records. No phone, no address, nothing. I try to wrap my mind around the idea that my father—who I finally feel as if I know, finally feel ready to love—has just disappeared across the ocean. “It’s not fair—it’s not—”

“You know what’s not fair?” Amandine snaps. “It’s not fair that he’s your father instead of mine. It’s not fair he’s not psychologically stable. It’s not fair he has unresolved problems in Mexico.”

I’ve been selfish, I realize. “I’m sorry, Amandine.” In some ways, this man is more her father than mine. “So why is he called Tortue?” I ask softly.

“I think he got the name Turtle a long time ago. In Mexico, it was
Tortuga
. Here it’s
Tortue
. I guess he’s always loved sea turtles. Even worked with them when he was younger.”

I close my eyes for a long time. “Did he say anything else?”

She pauses to think. “I don’t think so. Well, just that—when I tried to convince him to tell you, he said he felt ashamed.”

“Why?”

“He said, ‘What would Layla say if she found out her daughter had a crazy clown for a father?’ ”

I put my face in my hands and groan. “Somehow, I don’t think it would bother her.” I look up. “I’m going to find him, Amandine.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet. But I am.”

T
he water is so blue, such a deep, delicious, clear blue, and so full of light, I can’t stop looking at it. We’re on the upper deck of the ferry in the Vieux Port of Marseille, headed out of the harbor, past le Château d’If, toward the chain of islands to the right. Les Iles de Frioul is where Illusion is going to play tonight at a music festival. It’s also the island where Jean-Claude and his family used to go to the beach, where he and Amandine had their picnic with his mother a few weeks ago. His mother and stepfather are sitting beside him and Amandine, talking and pointing at the islands in the distance. Every once in a while, his mother leans over to kiss his cheek or touch his hair, as if to convince herself he’s really there.

Amandine and I have formed a tentative friendship, although we’re still far from being sisterly. Next to her sit Sabina and Julien, nuzzling each other, as usual. And beside them are Layla and Ahmed, who’ve been spending more and more time together lately. He’s brought his guitar, since Illusion invited him to be their guest soloist for a few songs. His stubble is even longer and more scrappy-looking now, just the way Layla likes it.

When I told Layla the news about Tortue, she promised that if he hasn’t contacted us by the time her teaching contract is up at the end of the year, we’ll go find him. Near Layla, over by the railing, stand Madame Chevalier and Vincent, his arm around her shoulder. Three weeks ago, her nurse made a home visit to her apartment and noticed she was looking significantly better. She brought her to the hospital for tests, which revealed not a single cancer cell. “ ‘Spontaneous remission’ is what the doctor said,” Madame Chevalier told me with a girlish laugh.

I lean my head against Wendell’s as we peer over the opposite railing. “Don’t you wish we could dive right in?”

He smiles his half-smile, which I will never, ever get tired of. “We will. Next summer.”

My eyes widen. “You see us?”

“We’re underwater, Z. Swimming together. It’s the bluest, greenest water I’ve ever seen. And there are thousands of silvery fish around us.”

My gaze moves back to the water below us, here and
now—a liquid green gemstone, impossibly bright and dark at the same time, sunlight dancing on the surface, while deep blue shadows stretch far below. Our ferry hums through the waves, swirling together the darkness and light, making its way toward the open sea.

* The
r
in French is a raspy
h
sound formed in the throat with the back of the tongue.

* The
n
sound at the end of a word is very nasal, made with vibration in your nose, not with your tongue. (But if the
n
is followed by an
e
, it’s a regular
n
sound.)

* For French vowel sounds that don’t exist in English, I gave a rough approximation. For accurate pronunciation, listen to an online dictionary (or find some French-speaking friends!).