Opposites Attack: A Novel with Recipes Provencal (29 page)

“We made love the next night. I should have known when she again insisted on cleaning up in the bathroom while carrying her purse that something was up. I was intrigued by her odd behavior, and she implied she had a dark secret. She was a cunning woman. She knew exactly how to string me along.

“She was determined to have my child. She claimed it was something she had never felt toward anyone else. That’s why I was turned off—and on—by her. I saw something in her eyes.”

He looked over at Alyce, who had reclined her seat as well and was curled on her side, eyes wide. “Was she the woman in the photograph?”

“Yes.” He turned back to the blue sky. “There was nothing wrong with her. She knew how careful I was from a friend of hers. It was a long shot, but she took it.”

He pushed himself back into the seat, tried to relax.

“When she told me she was pregnant I refused to believe it. Then she told me what she had done. I was furious. I was sure it would bring nothing but sorrow to our lives and especially the child’s. I lived in fear she would force me to take a paternity test and publicly acknowledge the child as mine. I wanted my child to have a father, but I did not want the father to be me. I would feel an even greater failure.”

He sipped more water from the bottle Alyce had given him.

“She quickly gave in to a wealthy Norwegian who lived in Paris and had been chasing her. He thought the child was his. They married. I knew Nils would be the better father. Yes, it hurt me deeply—ah! That is an understatement. I felt like my insides had been dug out with a burning hot shovel. But I felt it was the right thing to do for the child.”

Alyce’s hand flew to her mouth. “All of my talk about having children. I’m so sorry. And the baby
loirs
…”

He picked up his sunglasses, cleaned the lenses with his shirt. “Please do not repeat any of this. No one knows.”

“Not even your sister?”

He shook his head. “Only Raymond, my editor. Liliane became more involved in my life after this happened, when I truly couldn’t function.”

“Oh, Jean-Luc,” she said quietly.

His hands stopped moving. “Margot died of a drug overdose. Though classified as accidental, I doubt it was.”

“Wait. Your child. Colette?”

A long pause passed while he swallowed more water to open his throat again.

“Margot managed to arrange visits when Nils was away on business. We were not lovers, but it was impossible to erase Colette from my mind and heart once I saw her. Her big blue eyes looked right into my soul and her curly brown hair was just like mine as a child.” He took a deep breath. “I have never known a child to have such a sweet scent.

“You only had to tell her something once and she would remember it. She would point to something, pull me to it, and say in English, ‘John look!’ Understanding at such a young age that she was making a pun on my name. She loved to watch me make lavender honey and wasn’t at all afraid of the bees. Of course not. She was a child. She didn’t know they could sting.”

He reached for the key in the ignition. “I cannot talk about it anymore.”

She stopped him. “Wait, where is she? How old…” She gasped.

“The headstone you found is hers. She would be almost six today.”

He slammed his hand on the dash. “It was an accident that would not have happened had I been paying attention instead of lost in another world! If I had been more responsible!”

“What do you mean?”

“I had cleared out the library upstairs to turn it into her room. I was ready to fight Nils for her, even though he had the money to hire the best lawyers and would win. I was even willing to marry Margot. I wanted to be Colette’s father more than anything I have ever wanted!”

Alyce’s image blurred from the tears rushing into his eyes.

“She fell asleep on the living room sofa while her mother went to buy a snack Colette loved: graham crackers and peanut butter. I said I was going to get them. Promised Margot I would. A simple thing like that. And I didn’t. See? I would be a terrible father.

“I was painting a mural of characters from the books I read to her. It covered every wall of her room. I was completely caught up in paints and shadows and brushes and seeing her beautiful face light up when it was done and how I was going to make her mine when—”

He looked out the side window. “I was about to paint Humpty-Dumpty. Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall…

“Margot appeared at the door.
Where’s Colette? She’s not on the couch.
I flew down the stairs screaming her name, feeling a dread only a parent can feel.

“I knew. I knew.

“I went out the front door, she the back.” He whispered, “I have never heard screams like hers before and pray to God I never will again. The pool had been emptied for a repair.” He pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the tears. “Why did I not cover the pool? Why?”

Alyce’s voice broke when she touched his upper arm. “And I kept bothering you to fix it. Oh, darling, I am so sorry.”

He refrained from clutching her hand. Her calling him darling would register later.

“Nils, that bastard, knew I had little money, but had to make me pay. He tried to take the vineyard and I wish he had. I could no more run a vineyard than I could fly to the moon. I gave him my art collection worth $1,000,000. Only some toys, the other half of that photo with her in it, are buried here. She rests for all eternity near Oslo.”

He shook his head. “Margot went straight into a sanitarium and was dead a year later. As for me, the only way I knew to anesthetize myself from the pain was to write. I stopped making wine, honey. Stopped seeing friends, women, and wrote my last novel. My sorrowful career was briefly revived, but at what price?”

Alyce dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

Though not the most comfortable place for a hug, she managed to put her arms around his neck and hold him while they both cried. There was no one else in the world he wanted to make happy more than Alyce. But there was nothing he could do about it, absolutely nothing. And now she knew why.

He started the engine. “I will understand if you wish to pull out of buying my property. Though I would not be surprised if your admirable American pluck gets you beyond the tragedy that happened there.”

She was picking at her tissue now, shaking her head. “What a sad story. I’m only thinking about your loss. Your terrible loss.”

They said nothing the rest of the ride that was often punctuated with sniffles.

29

The Loirs and the Notebook

Between Jean-Luc’s confession and the summer heat, Alyce had no energy. While she had clarity about him and, she had to admit, relief that Colette was not a woman, she was confused over something else.

How
did
she feel about living there now? One of the names she had suggested to Nelson for their new property, and their wine, was La Vie. The life.

It was too overwhelming to comprehend. She wanted to talk it over with Nelson. Isn’t that what you do with someone you’re going to spend your life with? Shouldn’t he know what occurred here? Something stopped her. She would be invading Jean-Luc’s privacy. He had shared something deeply personal with her. She would respect that.

But she had to tell someone. It was like a dam ready to burst inside her. There was only one person she could trust not to blab.

Her father.

After a deep sorrowful sigh followed by “That’s very sad,” he said, “You could have a priest come out and bless the property if it makes you feel strange living there.”

Alyce thought for a moment. “Doesn’t every place have some kind of catastrophe in its past? Who knows what Indians were killed on the land where your house is. I’m sure someone died making the Holland Tunnel I commuted through every day. They died making the bridges around New York.”

“That’s true. Death is part of life.”

“I shouldn’t let this get to me.”

“I will say this. I think Jean-Luc is wise to move away. But I still can’t believe you might be living in France. It was hard enough having my girls move to New York.”

She heard the gloom in her father’s delivery and was instantly inside him, connected to a child in a way that only a parent can be. Alyce was appalled by her own self-centeredness to leave Minnesota. Yet, she had to, or feel trapped and unfulfilled the rest of her life.

The agony of letting go of a child never hit her before like it did today.

She looked lovingly and sadly at her baby dormice. She had to release them immediately, an act of solidarity.

Tomorrow.

She had to brace herself for the return of Isabella any moment. That confused her as well. Why should it bother her?

Their dinner that evening was strained, to say the least. Jean-Luc was exceedingly distant, causing Isabella’s initial sense of triumph to fade. She shot daggers at Alyce, as though she were responsible for Jean-Luc’s behavior.

Alyce left the table saying, “It’s so nice to be one big, happy family again.”

The next day her scream brought Jean-Luc and Isabella running.

She rushed out to meet them. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What is it?” Isabella asked with annoyance. “The
loirs?
”

“Are you okay?” asked a concerned Jean-Luc. “Is the male stripper back?”

Isabella whipped her head and long hair around. “Who?”

She didn’t want to tell them. She knew how it might make them feel. But they’d find out soon enough.

“I’m pregnant.”

It seemed to hit Isabella the hardest. At first she suspected Jean-Luc was the father. They cleared her up on that point. “Lucky you,” was her final statement on the subject.

Jean-Luc’s reaction was hard to read. “I am happy for you, Alyce.” He repeated what he’d said before. “You will make a great mother.”

Isabella said on a nicer note, “If you would like to commemorate where your child was conceived, I do commissions.”

“I’ll bring it up when Nelson gets here and can see your work.” The moment felt awkward.

She texted Nelson:
Let’s video chat.
She wanted to see his face when he heard the Baby On Board news.

He wrote back:
Slammed before coming over. And with the time change… I’ll be there before you know it. BTW, Jr was in the ER last night. Thought he broke his arm in a fight but it’s just a sprain.

She phoned her parents. There was no answer. She called Liliane. Her reaction was, “Why do you not sound so excited?”

“I don’t?”

“No.”

Alyce searched for an answer. Liliane gave it to her. “Perhaps you feel it is too soon. You want to be married first. And it is your first. I was terrified when I found out I was carrying Stéphane.”

“I won’t disagree.”

“And with all you are marrying into, well, it is easier to terminate these matters in France than in America. I can send you to my doctor who will give you a pill.”

“Liliane,” she said sternly. “I couldn’t even kill baby rodents.”

“I cannot be the judge of how you view this. Some would say it is not a child yet.” Alyce heard someone come into Liliane’s office. Speaking in code, she said, “I must go, but let me add not to get too excited about this until it is a certainty. Trust me, I know.”

Yes, Alyce thought, a lot can go wrong in the first trimester. She would be very careful who she told right now.

She fed milk to her furry babies that had grown considerably since she found them. They now drank from a bowl instead of an eyedropper.

It was time to say goodbye.

Better to do it before Nelson and company arrived. They were probably safer in the woods than in the clutches of that bratty kid.

She headed into the kitchen in the main house to get the suede bag that held Jean-Luc’s gun. If she met wild boars once, she could meet them again. He was starting to make espresso. She told him what she was doing as she pulled out the gun to make sure it was locked.

“Where is my notebook?” he asked. “It was in there before.”

“I don’t know. It must have fallen out when I went up that tree. I’ll look for it while I’m out there.”

“I’ll go with you. I need a break. But first, have some coffee.”

“I shouldn’t drink that if I’m pregnant.”

“That is nonsense. But as you wish.” He stopped what he was doing.

“Are you sure you want to be part of my letting them go? Won’t it…”

“I encounter reminders every day. I have learned to cope.”

He offered to carry the ventilated box containing the dormice.

“No, I’ll do it,” she said. “I want to stay close to them as long as possible.”

“I understand.”

They passed Isabella, who was painting while viewing the vista of overgrown, unkempt grapevines in the distance. What was on her canvas didn’t look anything like the view. Instead it was cleared with rows of vines, green rolling hills, the
maison
clean and in the open. Alyce noticed a photograph taped to the bottom of the easel.

“I’m inspired by this photo of the way it was when it was a working vineyard, while observing the natural light now,” she said. “See what you have to look forward to?”

“It’s beautiful, Isabella. If Nelson doesn’t want to buy it, I will.”