After much kissing—Theresa thought they cheek kissed everyone in the place—Claude walked her out of the café and across the street to the hotel. As they arrived, Jinn came out of the hotel with her baggage. Theresa looked at him, surprised. She said, “How did you get there? You were still in the café when I left,” and Jinn shrugged. “What kind of name is Jinn anyway?” she asked, “It sounds, I don’t know, it doesn’t sound French.” He shrugged again. The French must keep their chiropractors busy, Theresa thought, all that shoulder work.
Jinn said, “I am from Alsace-Lorraine, in the East of France. It is part French, part German, as am I. Jinn is my, you call it, nickname.”
“Is that why you speak English so well?” Jinn looked amused. He said, “You mean do I speak English well because I am Alsatian?” Theresa was defensive. She said, “Well, you have no accent, you know.” Jinn said, “I speak many languages, even Alsatian.” Theresa kept quiet. She had no idea if that was a real language or if he was making it up to torture her.
A horn sounded and Claude pulled up alongside the curb in a midnight blue Citroen CX. Theresa said, “My dad had one of these when I was little! I love these cars!” Claude smiled and opened the door. She slid in. God it was a gorgeous car. It was old, she could tell, but beautifully maintained. This could be an okay trip after all. She sighed and leaned back into the seat.
Jinn slid in next to her and he and Claude spoke rapidly, then Jinn switched back to English and said, “So, we are on our way to Angers. And what takes you there?” Theresa said, “Work.”
“What work?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Jinn eyed her. He said, “If we are going to travel together for several hours, what is the harm of knowing?” She didn’t respond. Jinn said, “Most Americans, they make friends very quickly. Warm people, you are. But then, the next day, poof! You completely forget. In France, we take a long time to make friends. But when a person is our friend, it is for life.”
