44 Charles Street

Chris kept Ian home from school that day, and he was still very quiet when Francesca and Eileen came home from work. Charles-Edouard was there that night. He had been with Marya all afternoon going over recipes and talking about their joint book. He offered to make them a light meal, and a special pizza for Ian. He had bought soft-shell crab, and a few lobsters, and in a short time he and Marya had whipped up another feast. She had told him about what had happened to Chris’s son, and he felt terrible for him. When the boy came into the kitchen that afternoon, Charles-Edouard introduced himself and asked if Ian would mind helping him for a few minutes. They hadn’t met yet until then. Charles-Edouard asked Ian to hold an egg in his hand and stand very still. Ian was expressionless as he stood there holding the egg, and Charles-Edouard looked extremely serious as he suddenly pulled the egg out of Ian’s ear.

“Why did you do that?” Charles-Edouard asked him solemnly. “I told you to hold the egg, not put it in your ear.” In spite of himself and the trauma he’d been through, Ian grinned. “Now, this is very serious. Hold the egg please. And this time don’t move. Ah, so, and a carrot in this hand. Excellent. Please listen to instructions, I’m a very important chef.” Ian was smiling by then. And this time the egg appeared to come out of his nose, and the carrot from the neck of his shirt. Ian guffawed as Charles-Edouard did his tricks. Within five minutes, he had Ian giggling, and then squealing with laughter, as another egg came out of his sweatshirt, and a lemon from his jeans. “I can’t trust you at all, can I?” Charles-Edouard said, suddenly doing a juggling act with three eggs, several vegetables, and two spoons. It was executed flawlessly until one of the eggs fell and broke on the floor, and Ian screamed with laughter at the mess. Charles-Edouard pretended to be embarrassed and then dropped the other eggs on the floor and made an even bigger mess. Everyone was grinning by then, and Ian looked up at the tall man with the white mane and told him he was really silly. But Ian was talking again and even laughing. It brought tears to Francesca’s eyes as she watched them. He was wonderful with the boy. He was as good a clown as he was a cook.

Marya cleaned up the mess before they made a bigger one, and Charles-Edouard sat down and put Ian on his knee. “Would you like to help me make dinner?” he asked him, and Ian nodded, and a few minutes later he had a chef’s hat on the boy and was showing him how to cook lobster and crab and he demanded a round of applause for his young sous-chef when he served it. And he had taught Ian how to make pizza, and tossed the dough high in the air while he did. And once again the dinner was delicious. But better than that, Ian was talking a blue streak. Chris thanked him when they shared more Cuban cigars in the garden, and Charles-Edouard acted as though it were nothing. But it meant the world to Chris. The world-famous chef had won his heart forever for what he had done with Ian. He was better than any social worker or shrink.

It was a quiet night after Charles-Edouard left. He had promised to come back and cook dinner for them over the weekend, and Marya had suggested that Francesca invite her mother, which she dreaded, but she knew that she would love it.

She called her mother the next day and invited her, and she accepted. And the following day Chris had the custody hearing, which was a media circus. His ex-wife’s lawyers made no attempt to fight it. They had their hands full trying to get Kimberly’s manslaughter charges dropped. Chris’s lawyer had already warned them that he would be seeking permanent custody of Ian, with a vengeance this time. He had no mercy left for Kim after what she’d done, and exposed Ian to again and again. And he was awarded temporary custody at the hearing. It was on the news that night, and Francesca’s mother happened to see it and called her immediately when she did.

“Do you know who that man is?” She was enormously impressed by who he was related to. Francesca was more so by his humility and discretion.

“Yes, I do.”

“He’s related to some of the most powerful people in this country.”

“I guess he is. He doesn’t talk about it. And this whole thing with his ex-wife is really hard on him, and his son.”

“She sounds like a complete mess. I feel sorry for her parents.”

“I feel sorry for her son. He’s seven years old, and he’s been through a lot of trauma thanks to her.” Her mother didn’t comment.

“I can’t believe you have Charles-Edouard Prunier cooking dinner tomorrow night. I’m looking forward to it,” she said, switching to pleasanter subjects. “How did you pull that off?”

“He’s a friend of Marya’s.”