Chapter 72

So for now, Christophe worked three separate jobs. In the mornings, he was a clerk in a hat store, then in the afternoons, he worked a shift in a bakery, and later, he spent his evenings behind the counter at the diner near their home. These three jobs were spread out across the city and the soles of Chris’s boots were worn thin from walking all day.

Yet, there never seemed to be any money for anything but rent and whiskey.

Joe missed him. The evening hours were the longest. He’d start to pace and brood, waiting for Christophe to walk through the door.

How long could Christophe endure this existence? Chris was so young still. So eager to experience freedom and life. He’d been an art student, before his arrest, he’d told Joe. Sometimes, Joe would watch Chris’s face when they walked, and he could see then—Christophe was suffering behind that complacent smile he tried to keep on his lips.