“But it was so much fun! Let’s do it again after the holidays,” Chloe had said.
When Luc excused himself for a few minutes Nora took out her phone and sent a message off to the Girls:
This evening is so much fun with a capital F!
She also sent along a video Chloe took of her jiving with Luc to “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.”
Nora and Luc danced for another hour and then became absorbed in a conversation about life and choices and things that weren’t choices. He was intrigued by Nora’s writing history, and her suspicion he was well read was confirmed.
Luc suggested they go to a quiet lounge across the street. The night had become bitterly cold and the wind cut right through their heavy coats. Luc put his arm around Nora to shield her as they hurried along.
In a dim, amber-hued corner of a dark bar, they were served a fine cognac as they settled into leather chairs, which were warmed and softened by a long history of use.
For the first time Nora learned about his personal life, which wasn’t at all what she expected.
“I am forty-three… Not so young as you thought, non?”
He did look younger, Nora agreed. There were only eleven years between him and Nora. The next disclosure was a shock.
“And I am married.”
Nora hoped her face did not register the reaction she felt at those totally unexpected words.
As he spoke, something in his voice shifted. The easy cadence slowed and a quiet gravity crept in. He explained he had been wed for twenty-one years. His wife, Mathilde, had been seriously injured in a car accident fifteen years ago.
The light in his eyes darkened even more.
“The doctors call her condition a ‘persistent vegetative state.’ For me, it is something more abstract—grief with no clear end.”
Nora’s heart leapt into her throat as he continued. She felt such sadness for this man, who obviously loved so much about life.
“She suffered severe brain damage and lives in an elegant nursing home an hour outside Paris.”
Luc was not uncomfortable sharing the story of his wife’s accident, and Nora listened calmly now as he continued to reveal more of his story.
“Our daughter’s name is Dominique, and she is in her second year of university in Switzerland. We try to see each other once a month either here or there, and she is my pride and joy.”
He described how he had brought up Dominique on his own and when she was little, they visited her mother every Sunday. Nora’s heart broke for all of them.
She apologized for dabbing at her eyes throughout the conversation. Luc held her hand at one point. “Nora, do not cry for me. I am devoted to my wife and daughter and also have learned how to enjoy a very happy life.”
Nora nodded. A tear slipped down her cheek and she sniffled, squeezing his hand gently. “But this is such a painful story you are telling me. It’s impossible not to feel sad. Please tell me more, but only if you wish.”
They both took a long slow sip of cognac. The warmth of it lingered, delicate and smoky.
“Everyone has a story, Luc. I’m so sorry yours is such a tragedy.”
He gave a small contemplative smile. “Oui. D’accord, it is a tragedy that lives on. But it happened many years ago and is part of my life. I do not carry it as a weight but rather as a shape. Part of the shape of my life, my love.”
He showed her older photos on his phone of his wife as a beautiful young woman with long golden hair and stunning turquoise eyes. Then he showed others of an equally beautiful older woman. “Still as beautiful today but caught in a cruel limbo between existence and absence.”
“She’s lovely,” Nora whispered.
“She is. Time has softened her features but not taken them. She is tenderly and respectfully looked after by a dedicated and skilled staff. Better care could not be found anywhere, no matter the cost.”
“And Dominique looks just like her.”
“She does,” Luc said, his eyes glowing, “And her personality is the same. It really is quite bizarre. She is a brilliant young woman in every way. Her mother would be as proud of her as I am.”
