She said, “You found anything else?”

“I have some leads.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged.

“You have any money?”

He said, “Is that an offer?”

“I don’t have a hell of a lot to spare.”

Roch was silent for a while. His expression was reptilian, Amelie thought, the combination of his pout and the slow, periodic blinking of his eyes. She was tempted to stare. Instead, she looked at her coffee cup.

Roch said, “You could earn some.”

“What—George is gonna raise my salary because I have an unemployed brother?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Her brother paused in his blinking. “Calyx! Amelie, do you think I’m stupid?”

When Roch got angry he slipped into his father’s vernacular: it wascalyx this and tabernacle that, maudit ciboire de Christ and so on. Venerable back country curses. She shrank down in her chair. “That’s not what I meant.”

Roch smiled. The steady semaphoring of his eyelids began again. “Waitressing is not the only way to make money.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have a problem here. I have to pay rent, you know.”

“Look, what do you want? Some cash? A loan?” She reached for her purse. “I can give you twenty.”

“Fuck that,” Roch said. “Twenty dollars? Christ!”

She waited.

He said, “Remember when we came to this city?”

Now Amelie was silent for a beat.

“Yes,” she said.

“You remember what we did then?”

Deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Maybe the time has come again.”

“No,” Amelie said.

“What?”

“I said no! All right? Is that clear? I won’t do it.”

“I don’t like the tone of your voice.”

“I don’t care.” She couldn’t look at him.

He said, “You don’t care that I’m broke—that I’ll be out on the street?”