Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

Dammit. I told him to leave.

But he just walked in, smiling gently. “Allô,” he said. “Je m’appelle Guillaume.”

I gaped at him, hearing French spew out of his mouth like it was nothing. Guillaume was the French variant of William.

Seriously?

Frankly, I’d been surprised he even spoke English. Figured him for someone who communicated solely in emojis.

But my grandmother smiled. “Parlez-vous français?”

“Un peu,” he said, measuring about half an inch with his fingers. “Très, très peu.”

She laughed, and that same smile that made him look like he was built for hugs spread across his face.

He looked down at her, and I rolled my eyes.

Un peu, my ass.

My grandmother had been born here, but her parents came from Rouen in France. They fled in the thirties under the growing threat from Germany, and even though she’d grown up speaking English at school here, her parents made sure to preserve her heritage.

In turn, she raised my mother to speak French, as well. I didn’t speak it as well as I’d like, but I understood it.

More French poured out of Will’s mouth as he talked with her, and I listened.

“I hope we didn’t wake you.” He looked thoughtful. “Your granddaughter was giving me the verbal beating I deserved. I apologize.”

My heart pitter-pattered a little, but then my grandma laughed.

“Perhaps deserved,” she said. “And perhaps she has my short temper.”

I leveled her a look.

Settling back down into her bed, she took her mask off the hook, holding it. “It was a long time before I met someone who could take me,” she explained. “That’s the thing about broken people, Guillaume. If we ever give you our heart, then you know that you deserve it.”

Tears welled in me, but only for a moment.

“He was patient with me,” she told him, a far-off look in her eyes.

My grandfather.

Long since passed, but they were well and truly in love. At least she was happy for a while.

“Now go,” she told us, starting to put on her mask. “I’m tired.”

Like hell she was. We could watch a movie or something.

“Grand-Mère…”

But she shouted, “Go! Be young!”

I wanted to laugh, telling her that I was forty-three at this

point and just over it, but it would make her happy if she knew I was happy, so…

She put her mask on, and we left the room, me leading the way back to mine.

Once inside, I closed the door and watched Will set a candle on my windowsill. It was the one that sat on my grandmother’s dresser. He must’ve swiped it.