A Wedding in Provence (9 page)

Olivia strained to follow his story. His English was good but his accent was so strong that the words were often unfamiliar. Om. Home.

“I walked her home when I was done,” Sébastien said. “And when I got to her place I walked her in. I do not know what happened. I ended up having sex with her. And the minute it happened I hated every part of it.”

“Bullshit,” Emily spat.

Sébastien lowered his head. They waited for him. Finally he looked up.

“Je t’aime,”
he said, his face crumbling. “I made a horrible mistake.”

“Go away,” Emily said.

“Why did she show up now?” Olivia asked him.

“She calls me. I will not talk to her. She threatened to tell you if I would not be her
amant
.” Her lover.

“You should have slept with her again,” Emily said.

“I could not sleep with her again. I did not want to sleep with her ever again.”

“Mes amis,”
Olivia said. “I’ve got to go. I love you both but I hate this mess.”

Emily nodded; her rage seemed gone. She looked tired and sad.

Olivia left the kitchen. She pulled the door closed behind her, then passed through the entryway and out the main door. She heard a gate opening below and watched as Brody came through, his clothes wet against his body, his hair slick with sweat, his smile broad across his face.

“My wife,” he said.

“Not yet,” she told him.

Later that morning, Olivia, Brody, and Fanny, Brody’s mother, borrowed Ulysse and went for a walk in the hills of Cassis. Beyond their inn, the road narrowed to one lane. It meandered over green hills and through lush vineyards. The morning mist settled into the nooks and crannies of the valley, coating everything with a whisper of white. Occasionally they’d see a
stone farmhouse or an old ivy-covered villa; they’d hear barking dogs from every property. The sun inched over the rolling hills to warm them as they followed Ulysse.

“Rent-a-Dog,” Brody said, ruffling Ulysse’s fur. “That’ll be my new business. Wherever you travel you should be able to rent a good dog for companionship on a hike.”

“And how do you manage this?” Olivia asked. “Where do you get your dogs?”

“Shelters,” Brody said. “Get those dogs out of their crates and into the fresh air.”

“Brilliant,” Olivia said. “Do it.”

Fanny eyed him. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. No. I’m not ready for retirement.”

Olivia hated hearing him say it. And yet she knew it was there in the silences at the end of each day, while she talked about her work at the theater. Financially they might be able to make do on her income and his savings, but the guy needed to wake up in the morning eager to do something other than take a walk.

“Go back to your work,” Fanny said. “You were so good at what you did.”

“I can’t, Mom,” Brody told her. “No real demand for a large-animal vet in San Francisco.”

“There must be places outside of the city. Isn’t there horse country somewhere near there?”

“I talked to a vet hospital in Woodside and one in West Marin. No one’s looking to hire a guy in his fifties. They want new blood to train. And someone who will grow old with them.”

“You’ve got lots of years before you grow old,” Fanny argued.

“Tell the twenty-eight-year-old that. They look at me and see an old guy. An old guy who did things differently in the wilds of Wyoming.”

“You did it just fine,” Fanny said.

Olivia smiled. She liked Fanny and her gentle way with her son. No wonder he treated women so well.

But she hated the notion that he had given up his career because of her. That he was bored and restless because of her.

“Your father worked until he was seventy-five. It was good for him, gave him some meaning in his life. There were days—”

She stopped speaking abruptly; both Olivia and Brody looked at her.

She shook her head and waved her hand. “Never mind me,” she said under her breath.

“You all right, Mom?” Brody asked.

“Fine. I’m fine.” But the words seemed stuck in her throat.

“I don’t understand him,” Brody said. “I can’t imagine what he’s thinking.”

“Oh, Lord,” she moaned. “You didn’t bring me out on this walk to save my marriage, did you?”

Olivia laughed. “Brody might make saving your marriage his full-time job.”

“Nah,” Brody said lightly. “My mother has every right to be miserable.”

“Who said I was miserable?”

“I know you are,” Brody said. He put his arm around his
mother and held her close to him as they walked. Fanny was a tall, solid woman; she fit well at Brody’s side. Olivia could see the resemblance in their strong bodies, their confident posture, their choice of cowboy boots even though they were walking in the hills of France.

“It’s not like I asked for this,” Fanny said quietly.

Fanny had called Brody just a couple of months ago to tell him that his dad had walked out on her. After fifty-five years of marriage, he had given her only one reason: I want to be alone now.

Sam had become more and more hermit-like over the past year, spending hours in his cabin by the river, reading or thinking or whatever the hell he did down there. Olivia had asked Brody if he thought there was a chance that his dad had a girlfriend in the cabin. Hell no, Brody said. He’s a damn recluse. And it’s going to kill my mother.

Fanny had offered to move into a separate bedroom, to stop complaining about his retreats to the cabin, to travel with her widowed friend Lucy so that Sam would have more time alone. But no, he had made up his mind. He was moving out. She could keep the ranch as long as he could stay in the little cabin. He wouldn’t bother her. She’d never see him. As if that’s what she wanted.

Brody had flown out to Wyoming to spend a few days with Fanny. She was heartbroken but tough—she told him that ranch women didn’t waste time with tears. Brody realized that he had only seen his mother cry a few times. At Grace’s funeral. When their dog Creek was shot by a hunter. When her own mother died. Brody tried to visit his father at the cabin but each time he arrived he’d see a sign on the door:
GONE FISHING
.
His father knew Brody was in town. Apparently Sam’s desire to be alone included cutting off his one son as well.

“Mom,” Brody said now, as they crossed onto a path that wound its way up the hill between two properties. They followed Ulysse’s wagging tail. “Do you think he’s losing it? Alzheimer’s or something?”

“No,” Fanny said. “The man says he’s clear as a bell. And that he’s done with the human race.”

Brody had always described Sam as a man who worked too much. Brody’s childhood was a happy one because he loved the ranch, his horses, his dogs. His mom created the kind of house that friends wanted to come to and that’s where they’d hang out, getting stoned in the barn, making out with girlfriends in the hayloft. Sam, a doctor, was always somewhere else—at the clinic doing rounds, driving across the county for house calls, delivering babies in the middle of the night. When Sam stopped practicing medicine Brody thought that his parents would travel, explore, perhaps even buy a small apartment in San Francisco.

“So why this change?” Brody said. “Why would he leave you?”

“I wanted more of him,” Fanny said softly. “I was getting lonely in my old age.”

Olivia slipped her arm through Fanny’s. There was something so soothing about this woman’s honesty. Olivia had lost her own mom a few years earlier. She missed her parents with a physical ache, one that would stab at her in the middle of the night or at some odd point in her day when she’d think: I’ll call and tell Mom. Still, after three years. Having Fanny in her life might ease that loss.

They walked in silence for a while. Fanny had no trouble with the steep path. She was remarkably fit for seventy-six—she still rode her horse for an hour or so every day. She did many of her own chores on the ranch, though now Ed, her ranch hand, helped her with the harder ones.

“Dad should have come to my wedding,” Brody said, shaking his head.

Brody had been furious with Sam for refusing to come. When Brody had finally reached Sam by phone, his dad said he couldn’t make it, he was too old, he didn’t travel anymore. None of that was true. “Do it for me,” Brody had countered. But Sam had simply said, “Can’t make it, son,” and that was the end of that.

“Bastard,” Fanny said.

“I’ll come out again,” Brody said. “I’ll make him talk to me this time.”

“It won’t work,” Fanny said. “You know that, Brody.”

Brody stopped walking, mid-trail, pulled out his cellphone and tapped on a number.

“What are you doing?” Fanny asked, reaching for the phone. Brody turned away.

“It’s the middle of the night in Wyoming,” Olivia argued.

Brody ignored them, listening while the phone rang. He stepped away when Sam answered and both women watched him.

“It’s me. Brody.”

He listened for a moment.

“No. No emergency. I have to catch you sleeping so you’ll accidentally pick up the phone.”

Fanny shook her head and sat down on a rock. Olivia joined her.

“I’m in France, Dad,” Brody said. “It’s my wedding weekend.”

His voice was dark. Olivia could feel Fanny’s body stiffen beside her.

“You’re pissing off a lot of people who care about you,” Brody said.

He walked away and then he, too, sat on a rock, far from the women. They could no longer hear his conversation.

Ulysse poked his nose into Olivia’s leg. “Soon, sweet dog,” she said.

Brody ended the call and put the cellphone back in his pocket. He walked over to Fanny and sat by her side, his arm around her.

“Dad’s stubborn as hell.” His voice broke.

“I know that, Brody,” Fanny said. She sat erect and proud on the rock.

“He’s done with people, he says.” Brody looked out toward a grove of olive trees. “With all of us.”

“It’s got nothing to do with you,” Fanny said.

Brody nodded. “It’s my wedding weekend and he couldn’t give a damn.”

Olivia felt a rush of emotion for Brody. And then she thought of both of them—wife and son, losing Sam in their lives. You open yourself up to love and you face the hell of loss.

“We’ll get along without him,” Fanny announced, pushing herself up from the rock.

They started walking again and found themselves on the top of a ridge with a view of the harbor of Cassis and the Mediterranean beyond. The red cliffs shimmered against the teal blue sea. A hawk circled above them.

“I’ll come out and visit soon,” Brody told his mother. Olivia could hear the pain in his voice.

Fanny nodded, walking with her head down. As if Ulysse could sense her distress, he moved to her side. Fanny’s hand brushed his fur as they walked.

“Thanks, Ulysse,” Brody said. “You’re a damn good Rent-a-Dog. You’re my inspiration.”

“No,” Fanny said, shaking her head. “There are so many other things you can do with your life.”

“I’m not finding them,” Brody said, and his voice sounded tight in his throat.

“But you’re happy in San Francisco?” Fanny asked, and Olivia felt a flash of anger. It’s not my fault, she wanted to say. He chose to come live with me.

“Yes,” Brody said, reaching for Olivia’s hand. But for the first time Olivia thought:
Is
he happy? Has he given up too much? What if he doesn’t find a job?

Her cellphone chirped in her pocket.

“Damn,” she muttered, pulling it out. A text message from Nell.

He’s gone. He fucking left. Mom, come back
.

Olivia showed the message to Brody.

“Go,” he said. “We’ll catch up with you.”

“You sure?” she asked.

“My mom and I could use a little time up here,” Brody said with a nod.

Olivia felt a twinge of abandonment—no, she was the one abandoning him. How do we come together? Olivia thought. My girls. His parents. My life in San Francisco. His life in Wyoming.

Her cellphone chirped again.

“Daughter crisis,” Olivia told Fanny. “Tell me something. When do you stop being a mother?”

“Never,” Fanny said. “Thank God.”

Olivia kissed them both and then took off, running down the trail and back to the inn.

N
ell sat in the middle of the bed, crying. She had woken late, the sun already flooding the room, and when she had reached for Gavin, she knew in an instant he was gone.

She had said too much. She had asked too much.

She heard a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” she called, her voice wobbly.

“It’s me,” her mother said.

Nell got up, opened the door and let her mom in. She fell into her arms.

“What happened?” Olivia asked.

Nell sat back on the edge of the bed, wiping her face with her sleeve. She wore the black button-down shirt that Gavin had worn to dinner last night. She had slept in it at some
point during the night. It was the only thing of his left in the room.

“I’m such a dope,” Nell said, and she began to cry again.

Olivia sat beside her and moved her hand in slow circles on her back.

“Shhhh,” she murmured.

“Why do I do this?” Nell asked. “I meet a guy and I decide that he’s the one and I figure that out in like twenty-four hours and then a second later he’s gone?”

“You open yourself up too easily,” Olivia said quietly. “That’s always been true.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Steel myself? Play by someone’s rules that say you can’t sleep with a guy until the third date.”

“Well, that would be a place to start.”

“Did you sleep with Brody the night you met him?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“You don’t have to.”

She caught her mother’s easy smile. Both women lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling above them.

“You took a chance, sweetheart,” Olivia said. “It didn’t work out. It’s not the end of the world.”

Nell took her mother’s hand.

“He didn’t even leave a note,” Nell said.

Chaney hadn’t left a note. She had searched for one everywhere—he owed her a note! How could he kill himself without telling her why? She’d spent long nights imagining that note. He could have told her that he was miserable and bipolar and he could have told her that he loved her and always
would and she was the best part of his life and he was so so sorry to do this to her.