The French Girl (17 page)

“I’m going to hold onto you so you get a sense for the bike’s balance and motion and the brakes. I won’t let you go, okay?”

“Yes, Jean.  Will you teach me that trick where you get off before the bike even stops?”

“How about we work on getting the bike to stop first?” Jean said laughing.

We pushed off and the bike moved much more quickly than I expected.  Jean, with her long legs, was able to keep up with it and held on as I wavered unsteadily back and forth.  I liked the way the plastic fringes flew in the wind as soon as the bike started moving.  I was distracted by them and did not see the hole coming up in front of us, even as Jean yelled, “Steer!”  The front wheel of the bike lurched into the hole and the back end veered abruptly as I tried to set my feet on the ground.  Jean, who had been running beside me, holding on, landed on the ground next to me.

She looked at me and laughed.  “Etoile, we try to steer around the holes, not head straight into them.”

I laughed back, dusted myself off and got back on.  A few minutes later, Giselle emerged from the house wearing a denim wrap skirt, a sleeveless gingham shirt and carrying her macramé purse.  Jean steered me back towards her. She looked at the patches of dirt stains on our clothes and shook her head.

“I do not want to know what happened.  Jean, you must promise me to have her spotless by the time I get back.”

“I will.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I told you, it is part of your surprise.  I will be gone for a few hours and then we will get ready for supper.  You must be very careful, okay?  And do not go on the main road.  Jean she is not ready for that.”

“Yes, Giselle.”

“I love you,” Giselle said as she put her hand on Jean’s face and kissed her on the lips, “but I will kill you if she gets hurt.”  Turning to me, she said, “And that goes for you, too.” She kissed both of my cheeks.

As soon as the little green car was out of sight, Jean looked at me and said, “Come on, Etoile, let’s turn you into a rider.”

For some time, Jean ran beside me up and down the driveway holding onto the big metal frame on the back of the banana seat.  It took longer than expected for me to get my balance.

“Keep your head straight,” Jean said.  I could see the collar of her Eastern University t-shirt filling with sweat from running beside me.  We paused to catch our breath and I turned and realized we had gone all the way down the end of the driveway and were now down by the main road.

“The problem,” Jean said in her analytical tone, “is that the driveway is too rutty.  You’ll never gain confidence riding on that.”

“But Jean, you promised.”

“I promised not to let anything happen to you and I won’t.  What do you say, Etoile?”

“But if another car…”

“There are very few cars on this road.”

I shrugged and remounted the bike.  Jean pushed me off and we took off in the direction of the University.  Riding on this road was very different than the dirt driveway and the bicycle zoomed along.  I could hear Jean’s labored breath as she ran beside me.  I did not have to worry about steering around potholes and finally found my balance on the bike. I was going to tell that to Jean, but realized she was not beside me anymore and I was pedaling on my own.  I applied the brakes, stopped and turned the bike around by lifting it between my legs.  Jean was standing there, watching me and broke into applause as I rode back up towards her.

“Congratulations, Etoile,” she said.  “You’re not only a swimmer, but a bicyclist as well.  It’s a good thing the Olympics were last year.  That’ll give you three more years to train.”

“You let go of me, Jean.” I said riding up.

“Yes.”

“You said you would not.”

“It was very hard to do, but you were ready.  Sometimes, that’s the hardest thing to do.”

“What is?”

“Knowing exactly when to let go.”

She put her hand on the handlebars and said, “Come on, I’ll race you home.”

I was much better at steering now around the potholes in the driveway, or so I thought, until I was distracted by Jean running past me and hit one straight on.  The bike went one way and I went the other.  Jean abruptly stopped and came running back towards me.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said dusting the dirt off my hands and knees and righting the bicycle.

“Then I guess I’ll still win!” Jean yelled as she took off again.  I mounted the bike as fast as I could and took off after her, but she did beat me back to the porch.  I put the brakes on and as soon as the bike slowed down, rang the bell for the first time.  It made the funniest, muffled “ching-ching” sound I’d ever heard.  I kept ringing it.

“I’ll have to get one of those for my bike,” Jean said laughing.  “Then all of my students will know when I’ve arrived on campus.”

Jean got out her ten-speed racing bike with its drop handlebars and toe-clip pedals and we went for a very slow ride together, me in front and Jean behind, down the road again. Jean made me stop when we came to a hill.

“Let’s turn back now,” she said.

“But Jean, do we have to?”

Jean looked towards the hill and shook her head.  “You’re not ready for the hill yet,” she said.  “It’s very steep coming down the other side.”

I reluctantly followed her home.  We washed our hands and Jean made us both cheese and ham sandwiches which were okay, but not as good as Giselle would have made them.  We read
Nancy Drew
together in the back porch for a bit before Jean glanced at her watch and said, “I think you need to go take a bath.  Giselle wants you nice and clean for supper.”

“For what, Jean?” I asked, but Jean just shook her head and laughed.

“You won’t get it out of me, Kiddo. Up you go and don’t come back down unless you’re squeaky, shiny clean.”

I could not imagine what all the fuss was about but I took extra care in washing my hair and making sure the tangles were all out, although since Giselle had been cutting my hair, it rarely tangled.  Emerging from the tub, I opened my closet and took out a patchwork skirt of green and orange and an orange knit shirt and put it on.  I paused at the mirror and realized that I did look older.  My face was beginning to fill out a little and my flat breasts were no longer as flat as they used to be.  The training bra that Giselle had bought me one day was so uncomfortable at first, but I had grown used to it.  Jean’s breasts were so flat; she rarely wore a bra and mostly wore a t-shirt or tank top under her clothes, unlike Giselle whose breasts were quite full.  I was not so sure about having breasts or if I wanted them to grow anymore.

I looked over and saw Giselle standing in the doorway, smiling at me.

“You look very nice,” she said as she came towards me.

“You are back.”

“Yes and your surprise is downstairs.  Come along.”

Once again, Giselle covered my eyes as Jean led me forward.  This time, they guided me towards the kitchen and it was not until I was through the doorway, that Giselle took her hands away from my eyes.

“Anais!” I yelled as I ran towards my sister who was seated on a chair at the old wooden table.  Anais stood up and I was almost to her when I stopped abruptly and stared down at her swollen belly.

“Come on, Silly,” she said holding her arms out to me, “it is just a baby.”

I slowed down and very gently hugged her.  She squeezed me, and then let me go and we both stared at each other for several seconds, taking the changes in.  Her face was much fuller, her cheeks even a little puffy.  I had never known Anais to be heavy but clearly she had gained quite a bit of weight.  Her eyes had dark circles underneath them and her hair was much longer than before, well past her shoulders.  She had it pulled back in a red bandana.

She seemed to be taking my changed appearance in as much as I was hers.  She touched my shortened hair and made the curls bounce.  She shook her head and said, “You and Giselle look alike with your hair like that.”

Giselle came over and put her arm around me.  “Well we are all related, so why not?”

“But I do not understand,” I began, “I did not think you could get away…”

“I wrote to Mother Superior and explained to her that it was your birthday and that I would take personal responsibility for Anais while she visited,” Giselle explained.  “I assured them we were all family, so they gave her a special reprieve, but Anais must take the train back tomorrow.  She will spend the night with us to help us celebrate your special day and I will take her back to the station in the morning.  Etoile, why don’t you take Anais upstairs and show her around while Jean and I get dinner ready?  Make sure you show her where the bathroom is.”

Anais rubbed her belly. “Yes, that is important these days,” she said as she followed me up the stairs.  I could not help but stare at how slowly she moved, her hand clutching the railing as she went up.

“Anais,” I said as soon as she was in my room.  “I do not understand.  You are having a baby?”

“
Oui
.”

“But how? How did you get a baby?”

“Who is this?” Anais said ignoring my question as she picked up the picture of Giselle’s grandmother.

“That is Giselle’s
Meme
, Josette Simone.”

Anais studied the picture for several seconds before placing it back down on the dresser.  She sat down on the edge of the bed and bending awkwardly over her large belly, took off her shoes.

“The Sisters do not let us go barefoot except when we are in our beds,” she said. She let out a satisfactory sigh at getting them both off.

“I do not think Giselle or Jean will mind. Giselle goes barefoot all the time.”

“You should have seen Sister Frances checking her out when she came to pick me up. Aimee Marceau and I know Sister is really
une gouine.”

“Anais!” I said lowering my voice.  “Please do not say that here.”

Anais shook her head.  “Maman would flip if she knew one of her own…”

“They are very kind to me.”

“Still, you need to be careful.”

“Of what?”

Anais glanced anxiously towards the door.  “Believe me, Etoile.  Whenever we are around Sister Frances, we are on guard.”

“It is not like that here.”

Anais turned towards the picture of Madame Duvais’ shop hanging on the wall across from my bed.  She walked towards it and studied it for several seconds before moving back.

“Giselle painted it.  She is a very good artist,” I explained.

“She is not that good,” Anais said.

“What do you mean?”

Anais turned away from the painting.  “She forgot
Le Gateau
.”

I stared at the painting and realized, for the first time, that she was right.
Le Gateau
should have been directly across the street from Madame Duvais’ market, but Monsieur Lamont’s dry cleaning shop was there instead.

***

Anais plunked herself down in a kitchen chair as she watched the elaborate preparations for supper. Giselle made my favorite, pizza.  Several times, I caught Anais watching Jean and I was pretty certain Jean was aware of Anais staring at her because she seemed particularly quiet that night.

Giselle brought the pizzas to the candlelit table along with a large bowl of fresh salad from the garden.  One pizza had fresh peppers, tomatoes and big slices of cheese melted on top.  Another had ham and onion, which was my favorite.  As Giselle sat down, I saw Anais fold her hands in her lap and look at all of us expectantly.  Giselle cast a glance towards Jean, then looked back at Anais and nodded her head.

“Did you want to say Grace, Anais?” she asked.

It had been years since I had said Grace before a meal.  Jean, who was not even Catholic, folded her hands in front of her lap and put her head down while we all crossed ourselves and said Grace out loud.

Giselle smiled.  “Well then, I suppose the food will be extra good tonight,” she said as she passed out slices.

Anais seemed to like the square pizza very much and ate three slices and drank two glasses of milk before pushing her chair back from the table and rubbing her swollen belly.

“Thank you,” she said.  “That was very good, but Sister Frances would probably say I had just committed the sin of gluttony.”

“Do you feel as if you have just committed a sin?” Giselle asked, her brown eyes peering at her.

“It was very good.”

“Then you could not have sinned if you enjoyed it that much.”

“Sister Frances says it is a sin to enjoy anything so much.”

“Sister Frances sounds like someone of great conviction,” Jean said sipping a glass of wine.

“Sister Frances sounds like a miserable woman,” Giselle announced.

“I think she probably is,” Anais responded.  “She’s just a frustrated old…”

I threw her a sharp glance, but she deliberately turned away from me and looked at Jean when she said, “nun.”

“Etoile says you have made a good friend there,” Giselle said.

“Yes.  Aimee Marceau.  Her people are from Cote Nouveau.  Do you know them?”