Page 31 of Pierre
“I don’t think he thinks that at all,” said Ambry. “Just enjoy your time together and don’t rush into anything.”
“Like you and Pierre?” smirked Elliott.
“I’ve known Pierre since I was born. He was adopted when he was just five or six years old. Given our age difference, he was a young boy when I was born. Our parents work for the family business and have known one another for ages.”
“And you’re a triplet, right?” asked Marjorie. Ambry laughed, shaking her head.
“I am. I have a sister and brother. But here’s the scary part. My grandfather was a triplet. He had triplets, my mother being one of them. So, my mother was a triplet. Her brothers all had triplets. I don’t think I can avoid my fate.”
“Damn. I think I’d double up on my birth control if I were you,” said Marjorie.
“Actually, I thought I’d never have children. I didn’t want the risk of triplets, but after being with Pierre, realizing that we have a future together, I’ve rethought that.” She blushed and smiled at her two friends.
“Well, if you’re happy, and you’re going into this with a clear head, then I say move forward and live your best life,” smiled Elliott. “Just do me a favor. Invite me to the wedding and send pictures of the triplets when they’re born.”
Ambry laughed but knew that she’d do just that.
“So, Marjorie, what are you going to do about Butch?” asked Ambry.
“I’m going to keep seeing him if he wants to as well. I really like him. I’ve never had much luck with relationships. Men always thought since I was on a ship dominated by males, that I was screwing around on them. I guess men don’t have good luck with women being faithful.”
“I can imagine it’s difficult,” said Ambry. “My family is a different breed. Not one person has ever been unfaithful or divorced in my family. Some divorced prior to coming to our family, but never after. That’s strange, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just that you guys have the secret. Whatever that is,” smirked Elliott. “I want the old-fashioned dream. One wife, a house with a picket fence, a couple of kids, the whole thing. I want little league baseball on the weekends, ballet on Tuesday nights, and quiet dinners with just the family.”
“You’ve really thought about this,” smiled Ambry.
“I have. My folks were married for fifty-three years. I was their miracle baby. They’d been married almost twenty years when they found out they were having a baby. I think it was a good thing. They were so grateful for me, for having me. They never complained about the diapers or late-night feedings. They wanted me to be involved in everything in school, and they were there.”
“Are they no longer with you?” asked Marjorie.
“No. They died sixty-three days apart from one another,” he said with a smile. “I think that’s how it should be.”
“I would agree with that,” nodded Ambry, thinking about Matthew and Irene. “I actually still have my great-grandparents, and they look amazing. They’re still active, involved in the family business, and they are badass. My great-grandmother was an FBI agent. My great-grandfather was a SEAL.”
“That’s very cool!” said Elliott. He turned to Marjorie.
“Oh, my folks are still alive. They’re in their eighties but live in Scottsdale in a retirement community. They play golf three times a week, take cruises when the mood strikes them, and they are on me constantly to give them grandchildren.” She laughed, the others laughing with her.
“Well, I think we’ve finished our tasks for the day,” said Ambry. “What do you say to a walk on the deck?” Her friends smiled at her, nodding.
“I think that sounds perfect.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The team was used to sleeping out under the stars. A few of Henri’s men had tents. Well, not really tents. More like blankets and sheets draped over a rope, but it served its purpose. When Pierre felt a tap on his shoulder, he jerked awake, looking up at the face of Henri.
“Sorry. You need to hear this,” he said, waving him toward the edge of the circle. Pierre tapped the feet of Frank and Ham, urging them to follow. At the edge of the circle, two of Henri’s team were kneeling next to a small boy.
“What’s up?” asked Frank.
“He wandered into the camp covered in dirt and blood,” said Henri. “He’s talking, but not in Creole French, Haitian French, or any other French that I know.”
Pierre knelt in front of the boy and smiled at him, taking the damp cloth one of the men held to him. He wiped the boy’s face, smiling at him. Then asked him a question in French. The boy just stared at him. A few moments later, he asked again in Spanish. The boy’s eyes lit up, but not completely. Ham knelt down and tried Italian. That was the right language.
“He’s Italian,” said Pierre.
“Italian? Ask if he’s from here,” said Henri.
