Not very special, Hélène. I’m a retired firefighter. For forty years, my job was to get people out of impossible situations. I’ve been riding a motorcycle for almost as long. If you trust me, I can take you home. Slowly, with breaks, being careful.
I looked at the helmet in his hands, then at the road vibrating in the heat.
“What would Paul have thought?” I murmured.
Marc smiled.
— I think he would be happy to know that a stranger is taking care of his mother after she was abandoned.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting behind Marc, gripping the belt of his jacket with all my might, my bag wedged between the two of us.
The firefighter’s jacket completely enveloped me. The helmet was a little too big, but he had patiently tightened the chin strap, as if he were preparing a child for their first ride on a carousel.
We
