Seven hours in a van with a once-crabby-turned-moderately-cheery (and devastatingly handsome) Frenchman might turn out to be a test, but she felt it was off to a comfortable start.
Nora was glad her sense of humor was intact. She did enjoy road trips, and how could driving through France be anything but pleasing?
Atticus was definitely an icebreaker, although not in the best way in the beginning. The first two times he threw up, he quickly dispelled Nora’s discomfort and embarrassment. He shared his affection with both of them and looked distraught when he was sick. Pierre seemed to respond to her sympathetic reaction to Atticus, and also displayed plenty of patience.
Fortunately, Pierre was a tidy person and had a box in his van with paper towels, cloths, and cleaning solutions. He insisted on cleaning up the mess each time while Nora took Atticus out for some air.
After the third incident, which seemed to indicate this happened every hundred kilometres, they discovered Atticus was just fine if he slept on Nora’s lap. So, that was what he—all eighty-eight pounds of him—did. After a few hours, Nora wondered if she would be able to walk by the end of the trip.
When Atticus was awake, Pierre often had a chat with him. The dog looked intensely at Pierre, as if taking in every word he said. Nora told Pierre she thought they had developed a bromance. The term then required an explanation, which made Pierre laugh.
To her surprise, their conversation remained relaxed. Pierre seemed to enjoy sharing historical facts and local information as they passed through various départements.
He asked her what she liked about her life in Canada, and Nora asked him about growing up on the farm and how it compared to his life on the Côte d’Azur. He didn’t venture to say anything about his marital history or divorce, nor did she mention being widowed. They stuck to light chatting about happy topics, and good background music filled in comfortable silences.
The look of disdain she had seen so often, or perhaps imagined, since they had met never showed itself. Now he radiated quiet, genuine interest.
Shortly after noon, he suggested they stop for lunch and turned off onto a country road. He told her about a tiny hamlet with an excellent kitchen in the local café. The road wound through gentle hills, occasionally passing a stone farmhouse, tucked behind a stone wall. Sometimes Nora could make out windows shuttered against the winter cold.
They arrived at a small square. Ancient stone houses huddled together, and smoke rose lazily from the chimneys. A weathered, hand-painted sign readingAuberge du Coin, framed by fairy lights and pine boughs, hung above the doorway of a public house.
A waiter greeted Pierre like an old friend. Pierre introduced Nora and Atticus to the affable owner, who seated them near the stone fireplace, which was filled with glowing embers. He spoke with them in French for a few minutes, and Nora felt pleased she understood the gist of what he said.Maybe all my French Immersion lessons are kicking in.
Their waitress moved a blackboard displaying the day’s menu closer to their table. Before she took their order, she chatted with Atticus and asked them if she had permission to bring him a treat along with some water.
Pierre said the dog had not been well earlier in the trip and perhaps food wasn’t a good idea. The waitress held up her hand and said she had just the thing in the kitchen to help him.
“This will be good for him, trust me,” she said. “A little rice with ginger and a few small pieces of chicken.”
Pierre looked at Nora, who nodded her approval.
“People treat their dogs so well in this country—I trust your advice completely.” She smiled warmly at the waitress.
The plat du jour was confit du canard avec pommes de terres salardaises—duck confit with garlic parsley potatoes. When Nora said it was one of her favorite dishes, Pierre placed two orders. A simple green salad was served first.
The golden-brown skin of the duck was crisped to perfection, creating a savory burst of flavor right before tasting the tender, juicy meat. The potatoes were sautéed in duck fat, finished with garlic and parsley, and accompanied by a rich gravy.
Pierre gave Nora a satisfied look as they murmured their pleasure with each bite, but he frowned when she offered him the accompanying mushrooms. She had hesitated doing it but couldn’t bear to see them go uneaten.
“I can’t eat them,” she explained. “I’ve some sort of allergy to them. I’d have to join Atticus in the vomitorium if I even taste one. Please, enjoy them.”
A muscle twitched on Pierre’s face, as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or find her remark tasteless. But then he chuckled and shook a finger at Nora.
“You need to know that mushrooms are like a religion in France. You are missing out, but I’m the lucky recipient,” Pierre said. He made the sign of the cross with his fork and accepted the food from her plate. “Mille mercis.”
They toasted with their local red wine, which they declared delicious.
Food was the main topic of their lunch break, and Nora discovered Pierre had a fine palate and loved to cook.What doesn’t he do?
Pierre also mentioned his parents had told him about their conversation with her about the war years. “They were touched by your interest.”
“And I was touched by the stories of your grandparents’ experiences. Do you know I’ve been meeting with Giselle’s Tante Marie-Louise?”
He nodded. “Yes, Olivier told me.”
“I hope to write her memoir, and the chat with your parents was most helpful in deepening my understanding of the time period. Of course, I’ve read about the war years in history classes and historical fiction novels, but hearing firsthand experiences is irreplaceable.”
Pierre’s face became solemn, the lines on his brow deepening. His eyes flickered with emotion. His voice was quiet, edged in pride and pain as he said, “Our family was fortunate to survive… But surviving isn’t forgetting. Some wounds never closed for those who lived through those years. My grandparents seldom spoke of those things to me. But I’m thankful they told the stories to my parents, who passed them on.”
