Whispering in French Page 21

  I nodded.

  “I knew you’d agree,” she said. “So I have an idea. Can we sell him part of Madeleine Marie?”

  She looked so hopeful. I didn’t want to break her heart. But there was something inside of me that would not agree with her idea even if it would solve all our problems. I shook my head no.

  She looked crestfallen. “Then what? What should I do?”

  Pierrot leaned in, “Get close to her mouth. She can whisper. It’s the breathing tube from surgery. Sometimes you lose your voice.”

  She leaned in.

  “Give him . . . say bedrooms in Madeleine Marie are a gift,”

  I whispered.

  Her eyes were round as a two-euro coin. “You want me to say you are giving him bedrooms in Madeleine Marie as a gift?”

  “Yes. Must say gift.”

  “Um, Mom. That’s a big gift.”

  “Tell him it will give me joy.” I closed my eyes. He would remember our conversation of over a month ago, when I refused his gift and he’d chastised me. “He won’t be able to refuse me.” I was already drifting. Couldn’t hold it together . . . But Lily’s words to the others floated in my conscious.

  “Is she okay?” Lily whispered harshly. “Does she know what she’s saying? Does she really want me to gift bedrooms to Mr. Soames?”

  “I just said your mother is a national treasure. Do what she says,” Jojo commanded.

  “You said she was a French hero,” Lily corrected.

  “Treasure. Hero. What is la différence?” Jojo said.

  “And a Basque hero,” added Pierrot.

  “Here is an ideé,” Jojo said. “Yes, I’m certain. If M. Soames doesn’t accept Madeleine Marie and these bedrooms, I’m certain your mother would want to give it to the village in honor of me saving her. The mairie is foutu—destroyed. We need a new mairie.”

  “I saved her,” Pierrot argued. “I should get the whole house.”

  I opened my eyes. “Non. And hell no.” I closed my eyes again.

  Lily laughed. “Okay, then. Got it.”

  IT’S A FUNNY thing about life. That our vulnerabilities are actually our greatest strengths because they make us human, but that showing vulnerability requires courage. Phillip Soames taught me that. He learned in return that following one’s own advice “is just a humiliating pain in one’s own arse,” as he put it succinctly the day I returned to Madeleine Marie to find him ensconced in our biggest guest bedroom. It was across the hall from my grandfather and as I was convalescing, it gave me great pleasure to hear them bickering like an old married couple in separate bedrooms.

  It gave me even more pleasure, the first evening, when he knocked on the door and said he understood my message and would not insult the kindness by offering lodging fees in return. It was understood that he and his family could stay forever and a day and that it would give us only joy if he never left. It was also understood that he would pay for a few household expenses such as food and I would accept it.

  The morning after returning, Lily brought a luscious breakfast made by Magdali on a tray. Charles and Winnie, as solemn as two church mourners, brought up the rear, bearing enormous, untidy bouquets of ragged flowers picked from the storm-tossed garden.

  “Oh,” I said. “How lovely. Thank you.”

  They stood there, uncertain what to do.

  I patted the bed. “Come sit with me. I have a story to tell you.” They ran to the bed and carefully kept their muddied shoes off the duvet as they sat down. Lily arranged the tray on the bedside table and pulled up a chair.

  “I spoke to your father when I left the hospital. He said to tell you that he’s sorry in advance.”

  “Why?” They asked in unison, shocked.

  “Because he is going to be as ornery as a bear and twice as mean when they unlock the hospital cage he’s in.”

  “What?” Charles said.

  “He did not say that,” Winnie announced. “That does not sound like Daddy at all.”

  Well, I had never been good with lying. And why was I trying to start now? “Okay, children,” I started over. “The doctor said your father will be released early next week. So I just want to prepare you.”

  “For what?”

  “For the fact that he is probably going to be the absolute worst patient known to mankind. He’s already making the nurses cry and he barely had two words to say to me. So that means he’s going to be short-tempered here too.”

  “Mom!” Lily was laughing. “You’re scaring Charles and Winnie.”

  “Am I?”

  They shook their heads no.

  “See? They’re not scared.” Lord, I hoped they wouldn’t be. “So, I just want you to be prepared. You know I’m a head doctor like you said, Charles, right?”

  “Roger,” he said, just like his father.

  “So, we’re going to do something nice for your father because I just happen to think he’s one of the nicest people I know—other than Mr. Soames, of course.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Winnie said wistfully.

  I worried about this little girl. She was not at all like the bold, outgoing girl Edward had described.

  “We’ll do anything,” Charles added. “He almost died giving up his space in the car. And you too, ma’am.”

  I placed my hands on either side of the covers and spread my fingers wide. “It’s really hard to be weak when you’ve always been strong. Just like it’s really hard to be strong when you’ve grown used to being weak. Does that make sense?”

  They both nodded.

  “And when something is hard it’s easy to become frustrated.

  And when that happens, people sometimes say and do things that they regret later.”

  “I know that,” Charles said. “That’s what happens all the time with Mum and Dad.”

  I lifted his chin and looked into his eyes. “I know you’re worried about that, but sometimes you have to say to yourself that that is their problem to solve, not yours. Roger?”

  He nodded.

  “So all you have to do is go to your father’s bedroom every morning, make him look you in the eye, and tell him you love him and need him. And do it again in the evening.”

  Silence filled the room. Lily was laying out clothes for me.

  “That’s it?” Winnie was fiddling with the red ribbons on the ends of her braids.

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “But, he knows that already,” Charles said.

  “Knowing it is not the same as hearing it,” I said.

  “Roger,” Charles said.

  Lily gathered the children and picked up the tray. “Mom, Magdali said she’ll be right up to help you bathe.”

  “Thank you. The toast was perfect.”

  I watched her walk out the door and picked up my list of a hundred things to do. It was daunting. Just mind-blowingly daunting. The roof, according to Magdali, was now a sieve with half the tiles blown off in the storm just like every other house in the area. The next rainstorm would flood the entire villa. And the hits just kept on coming.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Magdali? Come in.”

  Lily entered.

  “Forget something?” I looked around the bed.

  She walked straight to me, leaned over, placed her hands on either side of my face and looked at me. “I love you, Mom. And I need you.”

  I breathed through the ache in my throat. “I love you too, Lily. I’m the luckiest mother to have you for a daughter.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Shhh . . .” I said.

  “No,” she said. “I’m sorry I ran away. Sorry I scared you by staying away. Sorry I refused to live with you.”

  I reached up and pulled her to me with my one good arm. “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. And I’m sorry I got stuck and couldn’t figure out a way to get us out of there. I should have done things differently. I should have been bolder and taken a risk, like you said. I’m more sorry than you�
��ll ever know.”

  She began to cry and I did too. I stroked the downy softness of her hair.

  She finally sat back up. “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “I just want you to know that I would go through it all over again because I know who I am and I like who I am. And I wouldn’t be me unless I had experienced it all. I wouldn’t trade places with anyone.”

  “That’s just about the greatest thing a mother could wish to hear.”

  A sly smile crept into her expression. “So now might be the perfect time to tell you that Granddaddy, Youssef, and I went to the animal shelter in Bayonne and brought back a dog.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to love him. And we decided against a puppy. Max was on death row and he refused to be ignored. He is just the cutest.”

  “Max? Like my client?”

  “Yup. They’ve got similar personalities.”

  I sighed. “How big?”

  “Seventeen pounds, if I did the conversion from kilos correctly. There’s only one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “He has to sleep under the covers or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “He howls.”

  “Roger.” God. Now even I was talking like the major.

  THE DAY BEFORE Edward Soames was released from the hospital, I was finally allowed to venture outside the cocoon of Madeleine Marie. All had tried to warn me about the extent of the devastation, but it was a shock. I’d returned from the hospital at night and hadn’t imagined the carnage.

  Mother Nature had had her say, and it had not been understated. On the beach below the cliff, every restaurant, every establishment of any kind, including the boutique hotel, had been rendered to tattered skeletons or swept away completely. Downed trees, branches, and electrical wires were in every direction, albeit crews were out dealing with the mess. I slowly walked toward the barricade in front of where the Soameses’ house had once stood, and there was nothing there other than a huge gap. I could not will myself to look down the cliff to see the wreckage.

  The French National Guard had been called in immediately after the storm to cordon off areas, distribute food and water, and provide temporary accommodations for anyone left homeless. The entire area was a disaster zone. The Soameses’ villa had been the last one on the cliff road but had appeared impervious due to the structural improvements Phillip had undertaken years ago. Why was our villa still standing and his was not?

  It just made no sense.

  I walked back toward Madeleine Marie and looked down to glimpse at my arm. Ignoring it had not worked. It was simply the ugliest scar this side of the Pyrenees. Jagged and long, stretching from shoulder to wrist. At least it was my left arm, and I was a righty. The scar on my chest was not nearly as bad, and the scar from the spleen surgery would fade and always be hidden under my clothes. But that arm? It would only impress a pirate. My vanity was going to be sorely tried on that one. At least the cuts from the glass on my feet had not been nearly as bad as I’d thought. All that walking on the beach had left my feet tough.

  Mlle Lefebvre was standing next to her gate in front of her house as I walked by.

  “Bonjour, Mme Hamilton,” she said with a rare one of her smiles. “Very ’appy to zee you out walking.”

  I bent down to kiss each of her wrinkled cheeks. “Merci. I am so happy to see you too. Did you find your cat?”

  Her face instantly changed to her usual dour expression. “Non. Ma pauvre minette. I fear something grave has happened to her.”

  “Please don’t give up hope. Sometimes animals go into hiding before and during a disaster. Your cat must have smelled the storm coming. I’ll ask my daughter to organize a search party. And will you reserve a night next week to come for dinner? I know my grandfather would love to see you.”

  “Ah, oui? Vraiment?”

  “Absolutely. Really. Say next Sunday?”

  “D’accord!” She turned and slowly walked back to her house. I could hear her muttering something about old goats and distinctly heard my grandfather’s name.

  I crossed the pea gravel and looked up. The storm had not removed a single strand of ivy, which had protected the lovely old walls of my family’s home.

  My home.

  And as I tugged on the heavy door, and wedged myself through the opening, I could have sworn I heard a whisper of a meow.

  I called out, “Minou, minou, minou,” as I had heard Mlle Lefebvre call on many evenings.

  I turned my ear toward the drive and stood stock-still.

  Nothing.

  It must have been wishful thinking.

  Whispers from the Cliff . . .

  It was just too tight for three of us down here. Oh, who was I kidding? It would have been idyllic if it was just Yowler and me. It was the Barker that was making everything uncomfortable.

  Sure, he’d changed. Or so he said. I had my doubts. No one ever changed unless they chose to change. And this Barker, who insisted his race came from some place called the United States of Amuricah, had not found religion. The only thing he had found was a better life. He’d explained it all whilst the storm raged outside.

  But let me back up. I didn’t tell you about that fall.

  I thought I was going to die. Yes, in fact, I think I did die a little. Yowler said she gave me one of her lives. Grudgingly.

  It was a fall like no other—a straight twenty-two-foot shot from Ground Zero under the old boxwood to the Barker’s furry back below. Yowler said I was lucky the Boxer—her word—was lying—

  “You’re not still thinking about that silly little fall, are you?” Yowler stood in her corner a few feet away. “You know that no one likes a whiney culotte.”

  “I am not a whiney pants.”

  “He’s a whiney pants,” yapped the Barker.

  Yowler sniffed. “As if you’re any better. All you do around here is complain about a few little pinpricks.”

  “He left fourteen quills in my back,” Barker whined.

  “What’s a few needles? Some would call it le acupuncture and pay a lot of euros for it.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I knew exactly what that was. There was a Two-Legged who used to come to the house where I lived across the water and he would stick needles in the lady Two-Legged who lived there.

  “See,” Yowler said to the Barker. “Quilly knows how to laugh at himself. That’s the key to happiness. Being able to laugh at yourself.”

  “He’s laughing at me—not laughing at himself,” the Barker insisted.

  Yowler shrugged. “Again, another complaint. All problems from the past have an expiration date. And yours expired the day you jumped over the fence and escaped from your stupid, bullying older brother.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Things are different now. And I’m different too,” he insisted.

  See? I told you he thought he had changed.

  “And I like the new me. Life is beautiful,” he insisted a little too violently. “I’ve got it made. I sleep here, under shelter, instead of outside. And I find as much food as I like in the dumpsters on the beach.” He stopped. “Until now. What am I going to do?” He wailed and he tried to tuck his butchered tail between his legs.

  “Find new dumpsters to raid,” Yowler said. She was obviously losing patience.

  I peered toward the narrow, horizontal window-like space of the massive concrete bunker embedded in the cliff face. It was the only way out and my legs were not made to jump up walls like Barker, or climb vines like Yowler. Which meant that if I couldn’t climb back up the small air vent shaft, which of course, I could not, then I was imprisoned here forever or until I died, whichever came first. I could feel tears forming in my eyes.

  “Not you too,” Yowler moaned. “Stop. We’ll find a way to get you out of here. Stop worrying so much. You know that’s a completely useless emotion.”

  I sniffed.

  Yowler circled around me and sat beside me, her tail curling near my body. “I
f you quit feeling sorry for yourself, I’ll drop down the pipe a few of those disgusting things you like so much along with the cat chow my pet is leaving outside. But, Quilly?”

  “Yes, Yowler?”

  “They taste worse than that purple road cleaner. I really don’t know what I see in you.”

  “I don’t either,” I said.

  “Don’t look at me,” Barker said. “I think you’re both nuts.”

  “It’s simple,” I said. “Yowler? Can you please lower your face to mine?”

  Her big, beautiful orange face reached my level a few inches from the dank, concrete floor. My paws were so little that they sank into her orange fluff and my nose rested on hers. “I love you, Yowler. You’re my best friend.”

  “Um . . .” she said. “Now you’re becoming sentimental? Now? Just when I was becoming un petit peu intrigued by this drôle, emotionless attitude from the other side of the pond. You know this opposites attract rule seemed to be working well for us, but now I see you are a bit like me and that will be boring. So how’s that going to work?”

  Barker paced and panted. “Don’t look at me.”

  We both looked at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he continued as he lowered his haunches to the floor, “but I am totally confused. I’m at the top of the pet likability scale, and you two dingbats are coasting the bottom at probably a minus fifty factor together. I’m a plus ten. Everyone loves dogs since we’re down with the whole servant-master thing. You two don’t do anything for our masters.”

  I immediately brightened. “What’s a master?”

  “A concept neither of us should ever learn.” Yowler groomed her face with her lovely paws, managing her long whiskers with dexterity. “Why are you suddenly looking so happy, anyway, Quilly?”

  “Because I’d rather be a minus fifty with you than a plus ten Barker all alone.”

  “Sentimental fool,” Yowler whispered as she lowered her face back down to mine.