“Pastis is an anise-flavored spirit and is refreshing. As a writer, you would have read about absinthe, non?”
“Most definitely, particularly with van Gogh and so many of the artists of his time. I thought it was forbidden.”
“It was and, much later, this is the replacement, similar but legal. I do not usually put ice cubes in, as I believe it dulls the flavor. However, some people prefer it. Try it and see what you think.”
Nora put the glass to her nose. “It smells like black licorice, which I happen to love.”
“Yes, it contains anisette. When it turns cloudy like that, we call it ‘louche,’ and it is ready to drink. Sip it slowly. I hope you find it soothing.”
He touched his glass to hers and looked into her eyes. “To the dogs. We will find them.”
The intensity of his gaze startled Nora, in a good way. Her voice caught as she softly repeated, “The dogs.”
Black licorice had been a childhood favorite, and the velvety taste of the liquid as it slid down her throat appealed to her. In fact, it tasted delicious. “I’m a fan.”
She couldn’t stop saying how badly she felt and how she was responsible for Atticus, and how terrible it would be telling Giselle something had happened. She didn’t want Pierre to think poorly of her—again—but she was having a difficult time holding herself together.
Pierre tried to comfort her, but she detected some impatience in his voice. “They will come home. I guarantee it.”
The waiter arrived with a plate of ratatouille and crispy baguette for each of them. Pierre explained, “I thought we should eat something, and this is their specialty.”
“Thank you for being so thoughtful. I really appreciate it,” Nora said. A faint flush crept into Pierre’s cheeks, and he looked away, as if awkward in his kindness.
Nora hadn’t given any thought to food but realized she was hungry. The slowly stewed blend of eggplant, tomato, bell peppers, and zucchini was flavorful and soothing. Each spoonful tasted to her of something lovingly tended.It’s no doubt just my imagination, but that’s part of why this dish is so enjoyable to me. I can picture the chef humming while he stirs.
Once they finished eating, they agreed they would return to the farm and get up early to continue searching, if need be. Nora felt sad and discouraged but accepted they had done all they could for the time being.
When they drove up the lane to the farmhouse, Nora hoped with all her heart the dogs would suddenly appear in the headlights. But it didn’t happen.
It was a dark, moonless night, which didn’t help, and getting late. They got out of the van and stood on the terrace, perhaps both of them unwilling to go to sleep quite yet.
Pierre looked worried and paced back and forth. Then he said he had an idea and made a phone call. He spoke in French, then waited for a reply. After a minute and a terse goodbye, he hung up.
“I had a thought and called my friend, Jacques Delaurier, just one farm over. I know they roasted a lamb on an outdoor spit yesterday because we were invited to join them. Mami wanted us to stay here so you could experience our family traditions, and we all agreed. But it occurred to me that the dogs might have wandered over. He is getting his brother to help him check around their property. It’s worth a shot.”
When there was no response from the neighbors right away, Pierre said, “Let’s go inside and wait. If we don’t hear soon, I will drive over.”
“Please don’t go without me. I couldn’t stand to wait by myself.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away.
In the kitchen, Pierre poured them each another pastis and pulled out a chair for Nora to sit at the table. “Here, this will help ease your tension. I’m sure they will call back soon.”
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Nora tooka long sip of her drink and savored again how it was cool and velvety on her tongue. Then a sensation spread slowly across her chest—deep, warm and slow. Soothing. But not enough to quell her anxiety. Her feet shuffled nervously under the table and she took another long swallow.
“Pas trop vite, Nora. Not too quickly,” Pierre cautioned her. “You need to lean into it. Let it calm you.”
They sat quietly. Both phones pinged.
Chloe and Olivier and Mami and Papi had all texted to see if the dogs were home yet. Nora felt more and more despondent.
Then she lost control and burst into tears. “Oh Pierre. What if something terrible has happened? How will I ever be able to tell Giselle? How will she forgive me? How will I live with myself? I love Atticus too and…” Her voice trailed off, caught in deep sobs.
She wept, and Pierre looked at her uncomfortably from across the table. Getting up, he came around to her side and sat on a chair beside her. He put his arm tentatively around her shoulder.
“Là, là… Ne pleure pas. Tout ira bien … je te promis. Don’t cry, everything will be fine … I promise you.” His voice was soft and low, as if he cared.
Nora put her head in her arms on the table, and her shoulders shuddered as she tried to pull herself together.
