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. John Louis. No, it can’t be.“Uh, yes, er, Jean-Lou-” and then I froze again. Was his mother? Was? “W-was?”“Excuse me?”“Was your mother,” I said hoarsely, and. Rebeca has always spoken highly of you.”“Thank you, Mrs. Brown,” Em said. She looked a little curious but Beca came bouncing down the hall and soon we were at the table studying US History. I won’t go into a lot of our history lesson other than to say Em had an interesting perspective now that she was in the National Service.“I can’t help but think Mexico and Canada are both going about implementing their National Service in a better way than the US is,” she said. “They have a shorter term of. More

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