My Grape Escape Read Online Free Page B

right house to fall across our path. He always carried a well-worn icon of the Virgin Mary in his leather wallet. He lived his life convinced that he was not only protected by the Virgin but also by an assorted crew of deceased grandparents, uncles, and a friend or two up in Heaven. He considered this motley celestial crew to be his guardian angels.
    Like so many North Americans, my upbringing had been heavy on the morality and light on the spirituality, whereas for Franck, like many French people, it had been the opposite.
    “Marey?” Mémé frowned and tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “It is filled with Poiriers . They’ve always been compliqués as far as families go.”
    Michèle pursed her lips in agreement. It was true that at least half the village was populated by one extended family but this didn’t worry me – I was just relieved that uniting against the villagers of Marey had apparently smoothed over the question of Emmanuel-Marie’s love for ketchup.
    “Where is it in relation to the church?” Michèle asked.
    She meant the church where Franck and I had been married a year before. It was a little stone affair dating back to Roman times with a rounded ceiling and scarred wooden benches located near the end of the village, or the beginning, depending on which direction you were coming from. The floor was made up of flagstones so worn with time that they were polished smooth with the details of the knights that had been buried beneath them several centuries ago carved in Old French.
    A house for sale in Marey when Marey only consisted of about twenty houses  .  .  while I couldn’t bring myself to believe that the Virgin Mary or any guardian angels were looking out for me , I could believe they had thrown Franck this gift.
    Franck grabbed the ketchup bottle and poured some over his pasta, then dug in while Michèle and Mémé both pretended not to notice.
     
     

     
     
    The next morning, after polishing off our café au lait and tartines of jam made from the wild peaches that grew in the vineyards, Franck began pacing around the kitchen.
    “Do you think it’s too early to call?”
    I checked my watch. “It’s only ten after seven.”
    Franck grimaced. “How early do you think is too early?”
    “Before eight thirty is definitely too early.”
    “What am I going to do before then?” Franck raised his arms towards the ceiling and I supposed beyond that to those guardian angels of his.
    “Have a shower. Have another café au lait . Give me a shoulder massage.” He stopped to laugh at my saucy smile but then resumed his pacing. I began to heat up some more milk in the saucepan, stirring it slowly with a worn wooden spoon.
    “How can you stand to wait?” he demanded after a few minutes.
    I was eager too, of course, but there was some sort of inner calm that had descended over me since the night before. I had no idea where it had come from.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I just feel that if this house is meant to be, it’ll work out no matter what time we call the realtor.”
    Franck drew to an abrupt halt. “How many of those pills have you had this morning?”
    “None.” In fact, I had woken up with my thoughts so consumed by beautiful old doors and views over the vineyards that I had completely forgotten to take them. “I don’t know why I feel so calm about all of this,” I admitted. “I want it just as much as you do.”
    Franck peered at me. “Do you feel like it will work out for the best one way or the other?” he ventured.
    I almost felt scared as I let the word out of my mouth, as if I was going to jinx myself.
    “ Oui ,” I admitted.
    “You know what’s that called?”
    “Insanity?”
    He clicked his tongue. “ Ma chérie , it’s called faith.”
     
     

     
     
    I stood beside Franck as he talked on the phone, wishing that his parents hadn’t updated their phone system around the time of our wedding and done away with their old orange phone with the