. no, it couldn’t be.It was her son, certainly. But he looked like me in a few ways, not absolutely distinctly. He also looked to be about 30 years ...ld, which ... no. It couldn’t be. It could not be.“Hello,” he said, only the faintest of New Orleans accent, “I’m Jean-Louis, Ambrosine was my mother. Are you the Johnny she met on the train in 1985?”Jean-Louis? I knew her father’s name was Lew, because that’s what a friend in the kitchen called him when he was mentioned. Jean-Louis. Zhon-Looey.. So that put an end to that. Walking past me, Jayden kisses my forehead before disappearing down the hall. I listen closely to catch the sound of footsteps climbing stairs, but there is none. Jayden is as silent as a mouse. Though, I assume that's where he's gone to prepare for his errands. Twenty minutes later, Jayden comes down the steps just as I'm about to head up. He tells me he'll be back in a couple of hours and to stay in the house until he gets back. He takes me in his arms, holding me. More

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