A Wedding in Provence (15 page)

Paolo squinted at the words. He held the bowl, wrapped in his arms, protecting the rest from her greedy fingers.

“Ciao,”
she said.

“Ciao,”
he repeated uncertainly.

She walked out the back door, straight past her mother, past Emily and Jake chatting it up at the table. She waited for someone to stop her. For her mother to tell her to sit down and eat lunch with them. She’d think her a fool for searching for her sister. Carly takes care of Carly.

But no one said a word as she walked across the lawn, around the house and down the driveway to the street below.

G
avin pushed Carly back against the wall of a building, pressing his lips into hers.

She felt his tongue probing her mouth, hard, insistent. No, she thought. This isn’t what I want. She pushed against his chest.

“You asked me to kiss you,” Gavin said. His lips were wet, his eyes cloudy.

“Not yet,” Carly said.

“You’re a tease,” he told her. He still held her shoulders pressed against the cold stone wall.

“Maybe a girl wants a little romance first,” she said.

He shook his head, his eyes on her. “You don’t want romance.”

She felt her heart thudding inside her head. Don’t show fear. Don’t give him that power over you.

Carly saw garbage flying through the street, airborne on a gust of wind. She heard French rap music blasting from an apartment window.

“Show me Marseille,” she said. “I’ll kiss you when I’m ready.”

He released her and walked away.

Let him go, she thought. You don’t need him.

A plastic bag blew in the wind and tangled on her arm. She shook it off and saw a smear of something red across her arm. She grabbed a Kleenex from her purse and wiped the smear off. Ketchup. Not blood.

She caught up with Gavin and fell into step beside him.

“I don’t like it here,” she said.

“You wanted an adventure,” he told her.

“There must be an old part of the city. Something charming.”

“This is Marseille,” he said.

“The port! Let’s walk to the port.”

Gavin stopped and turned to her. “I’m not a tourist guide.”

“I know that.”

“Do you want a good time?”

Sex, she thought. He’s talking about sex. She thought about Wes, his pale body hovering above hers, his slim penis sliding in and out of her. He always looked so serious while making love, as if he were taking an exam that he might not ace.

Nell never said no to a good time. She learned to ride a motorcycle when she was sixteen. At seventeen, she went to
Burning Man with a bunch of guys she met in Dolores Park. She drove to Las Vegas with a casting director who left her there after two days and nights of partying.

Do I want a good time?

Not sex, she thought. Something else, something that will take me someplace new.

“Yes,” she said.

“Good girl,” he said.

He started walking again, and she hurried to keep at his side.

They entered a plaza encircled by shops and cafés. A fenced playground stretched across the middle of the open space. Two women wearing hijabs watched their children on the swings. An older Arab man, blind, made his way across the courtyard, banging on garbage cans, street signs and café chairs with his white-tipped cane.

Her mother and sister were probably kayaking in the brilliant blue sea right now. Maybe they were back at the inn, having lunch in the garden. She thought of fields of lavender, stretching as far as the eye could see. Vineyards, ripe with grapes glistening in the hot sun. A white sand beach, the sea-washed pebbles cool under her feet.

A man walked by her, his eyes on her breasts.

Carly slipped her arm through Gavin’s.

Her sister’s guy. Her mother’s wedding weekend. Go back. Leave him.

Gavin pressed her arm against his side. She could smell him. Some odd mixture of sex and sandalwood.

Wes had no smell. He wore no cologne. After work, after
exercise, after sex, he took a shower. He didn’t push her against the wall of a building and kiss her.

She remembered visiting Nell in L.A. once during a trip with her high school debate team. Nell took her to a bar at night, supplying her with a friend’s ID. Carly drank a glass of white wine but Nell drank scotch, one after another. A couple of guys came over and asked them to dance. Carly had a boyfriend; she said no. “He’s not asking you to marry him,” Nell whispered. “Have a little fun.” But she sat alone on a bar stool, texting the boyfriend back in San Francisco. Nell danced for an hour or two, with both guys, with everyone on the dance floor. And when they walked back to Nell’s apartment, late at night, Carly could smell her sister’s booze and sweat and joy. The next day the boyfriend dumped her for her best friend. She won the debate championship.

Have a little fun
.

Do you want a good time?

Gavin turned a corner, keeping her close, her arm tight against his body. He whispered in her ear, “Little sister.” She could feel his warm breath on her neck.

“Where are we going?” she asked. Her voice sounded like someone else’s voice. Afraid. Unsure.

“You’ll see,” he said.

E
mily and Olivia were the last two left at the outdoor table under the arbor. The salad platters were almost empty; the wine was gone. Fanny had retired to take a nap, Sébastien went to fix a broken table in the library, and Jake was swimming laps in the pool behind them.

Brody never came down to lunch. Olivia told herself that he was napping, but she knew that she was supposed to fetch him and offer an apology. Still, she didn’t move.

“You can’t be mad at Nell because she likes rough sex,” Emily said. She leaned back and put her feet up on the chair beside her.

“You look exhausted,” Olivia said.

“You’re not listening to me.”

“I am.” She, too, slumped back in her chair. She closed her
eyes in the bright sunlight. The warm wind seemed to slow the world down.

“It’s not such a horrible thing,” Emily said.

“Oh my God,” Olivia said, sitting up suddenly, and staring at her friend. “You like rough sex?”

“Not really rough sex. But some stuff. Tying each other up. That sort of thing.”

Olivia shook her head. “I don’t think I want to know this.” She put her head back on her chair.

“I wouldn’t talk about it. Normally. But you’re mad at Nell and you shouldn’t be.”

Olivia didn’t like it when her best friend told her how to deal with her daughters. It was so easy to give advice about child-rearing when you weren’t a parent.

“I
am
mad at Nell. But it’s not about the rough sex.”

“I don’t think being mad at her right now makes any sense.”

“Who said I’m making sense?”

“Why are you mad at her?”

Olivia dropped her head on the table. When she lifted it, she looked at Emily. “There’s something so vulnerable about Nell. I saw it today. I can imagine why men take advantage of her. She doesn’t protect herself. She’s too raw.”

“She’s young.”

“We were never like that when we were young. Carly’s not like that.”

“Carly’s not like anyone.”

“Do you know what I’m talking about?” Olivia asked.

Emily nodded. “She doesn’t have the mettle that you and Carly have. So you need a little more compassion with her.”

“I need a little more wine.”

Emily reached for the bottle. “We finished it,” she said. “I’ll get more.”

“No. I have to be sober. I’m getting married tomorrow.”

Emily got up and walked around the table. She sat in the chair next to Olivia and took her hand.

“About a minute ago,” Emily said, “we were two kids in a dorm room at Berkeley. I’d give anything to be back there in time.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Olivia said. “I was an idiot. I thought I was God’s gift to acting. I thought I’d travel around the world with a backpack and a good stash of drugs for ten years.”

“I thought I could trust love,” Emily said.

Olivia squeezed her hand. “Have you guys talked any more?”

“I don’t want to,” she said. “I don’t believe him. I don’t understand him.”

“He fucked up,” Olivia said. “In a big way.”

“Here’s the crazy part. In France an affair just isn’t a big deal. Everyone does it.”

“That can’t really be true.”

“I think it’s true,” Emily said. “Sébastien’s friends have flings all the time. His mother had a paramour who came to her funeral. The young girl who cleans for me here has a married lover who pays for her apartment. Apparently, he buys two of everything. Two sexy nightgowns, one for her and one for his wife. Two bouquets of irises. Two gold necklaces with starfish pendants.”

“Is that what Sébastien is arguing? That it’s no big deal?”

Emily shook her head. “He knows it’s a big deal. For us it’s a big deal.”

“Somehow you guys have to get past this.”

“Why?”

“Because you love him?”

Emily shrugged. “You get to a certain point in a marriage when you don’t even know what love is anymore. You live together, you take care of each other, your lives become intertwined. But love? Big old passionate love? I’m not sure I remember that kind of love.”

“It evolves. At least I think it does. What do I know? Mac and I went from love to boredom in a flash. We skipped those steps: taking care of each other, intertwining our lives. We lived parallel lives. And suddenly we couldn’t care less about each other.”

“And it’s different with Brody?” Emily asked.

“Brody and I will do it differently,” Olivia said. Can I do it differently? she thought. Yes. This is grown-up love. I’m different than I was at twenty-six. “We’ll take care of each other,” she told Emily. “We’ll wrap our lives around each other.”

“But you have work. He doesn’t.”

Olivia stood up. “Now I’m getting more wine.” She walked toward the house, carrying two empty bottles with her.

“And chocolate!” Emily shouted after her. “There’s a box of salted caramels on the counter.”

Olivia stepped into the kitchen and saw Brody at the sink, staring out the window.

“I thought you were napping,” she said.

“Did you come to look for me?” he asked.

Olivia shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She reached out and placed her hand on the small of his back. “Come outside. We’ll feed you.”

Brody shook his head. “You and Emily are talking. I don’t want to intrude.”

“She just asked me about your not working.”

“What about it?”

“Whether it causes us to live separate lives.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I needed more wine.”

“I
will
get a job,” Brody said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “I’m not going to spend my day waiting for you to come home from work.”

But that’s what you’re doing, she thought. It’s been three months. And every day I come home you’re waiting for me so you can start your life.

Olivia sat on a stool at the counter. She felt the weight of those evenings on her now. She would ask him about his day. He would describe a walk to Crissy Field, a day spent wandering the Presidio. And soon enough she would be telling him about her fight with the producer of the next play. The rave
Chronicle
review of the current play. The new playwright who was going to work with them next fall. Brody’s face would open up as she told her stories. All day he’s been waiting for me to come home, she thought.

“What if you can’t find a job?” she asked.

Brody took a step back from her. “We’ll be okay. I have money saved.”

“It’s not all about the money. You’ll be lost without work. You love working.”

“I’m taking a break from working. That’s all.”

Mac had been a workaholic. And Olivia threw herself into her projects with an intensity that dazzled most people. Carly’s life was her work. What happens to a person who doesn’t work?

She thought of a long rambling walk she and Brody had taken in Wyoming one day. Where are we going? she had asked. Everywhere, he told her. They walked for hours, through a great expanse of open land and unending sky. He named the snakes they saw; he spotted an eagle for her. She stopped looking at her watch, stopped thinking about tonight’s dinner, tomorrow’s flight home.

She looked up at Brody now. “I might learn something from you,” she said. “About how to live instead of how to work.”

His face softened and he pulled her toward him.

“I love you,” she said quietly.

He leaned over and kissed her. His cellphone rang in his pocket. He glanced at it and then at Olivia.

“It’s my dad,” he said.

“Take it,” Olivia told him.

Brody answered the phone and walked over to the tall kitchen windows.

“I’m here,” he said into the phone. And then he listened for a long time. He sat on a stool by the center island and Olivia could see from the set of his shoulders that he was hearing bad news.

“There must be something you can do,” Brody finally said.

He sat with the phone pressed against his ear for a long time. Olivia moved to a stool beside him, placing her hand on his thigh.

“You have to tell Mom,” he said into the phone.

After a while, his voice got louder. “You can’t do that, Dad,” he said. “Let her help you.”

Olivia saw his hand curl into a fist.

Finally he relaxed and spoke quietly into the phone. “I’ll tell her. But you have to promise to let her take care of you.”

When he hung up the phone, he was quiet and Olivia saw that he was crying. She stood up and put her arms around his shoulders.

“He’s got cancer,” Brody said, his voice quiet. “It’s already in his liver.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Olivia said, holding him.

Brody spoke through his tears. “That’s why he moved out. He’s the smartest man I know and he’s an absolute idiot. He didn’t want Mom to suffer while he died. He wanted to go away and do it by himself.”

“He’s changed his mind?” Olivia asked.

Brody nodded. “I think he got scared. Or guilty about missing the wedding. Or he just missed her. Damn fool. He couldn’t spend a day without her and then he walks out on her because he thinks she’s not strong enough to watch him die.”