“What is it with closed churches around here? The little one in Mirabelle is closed, too.”
“Not enough people,” said Aubin. “Nothing’s going on around here.”
They turned down a wide lane leading away from the church’s doors, lined with mossy stone walls and giant trees covered in ivy. “This is the Promenade du Côna,” he said. The further down the lane they went, the more they found themselves in the semiwild, a forest right on the edge of Bourmont. “And here, the Parc des Roches.”
They passed a monument, like a square pyramid with stone steps leading up to a large cross. “That’s acalvaire,” he said. “I don’t know what they call it in English. I don’t even really know what it’s for. But it’s always been here, in my lifetime anyway.” Obviously a Christian monument, but all alone, in nature. How different this place was from Toronto, with its new buildings, busy roads, and rush-hour crowds getting to work or school.
“What was the little book you were making before?”
“It’s just a hobby. I draw pictures, make up a story … Then I usually recycle them.”
They arrived at a semicircular dry-stone wall built into the land, stairs leading down to a stone platform, a mysterious door carved into the hill leading into darkness.
“Is this a castle ruin?”
“No, it was built by a man in the 1800s who wanted to make a romantic park.”
“What does that mean?”
“A park made for the purpose of losing yourself.”
She liked the sound of that.
“You can walk along a winding path,” he said, “unsure what comes next, because you’re in nature, and nature isn’t planned. And then you’re surprised by a man-made thing. Fake ruins, or a nonsense place of mystery and wonder to transport you to a different time.”
As they descended the hill, the birds called to each other, and the sunlight played amongst the tall tree branches.
They took a narrow path between two high rock faces covered in deep green ivy and moss—the kind that, in a kids’ book, wouldlead to a new world. They emerged into a clearing with a small round stone shelter, a roof of flat stones laid against one another.
“It is acadole,” he said, “a shelter made from the rocks pulled up from the earth by people who work the land. They use thecadoleagainst the weather, to store tools or to rest.”
They walked further, pausing at the foot of an overhang demarking this piece of land from the piece on top: a dramatic divider between this world and that.
She watched the sunshine break through the branches and skip across the forest floor.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“It’s dumb.”
“Tell me anyway. I dare you.” Not a jerk now. Human. Gentle.
“I missed my prom last night. Decided not to go a long time ago.”
“I have seen this prom in movies. We don’t do it in France, but it sounds like fun.”
“I hated high school. I did well, but it was subjects I didn’t care about. I got along with everyone, but there was mostly just my best friend, Willa.”
“And how was this prom, without you? Or do you even know?”
“I was getting the report from her when you pulled up. It was on a boat on the harbor. Everyone wore ballgowns, the kind that have no straps and are either so short you can’t even bend down, or long and flowy numbers like fairy princesses. They had dinner and dancing and grab bags of gifts … It’s stupid, because we’re here in France, which is great, but … I had one chance at prom, and I’ll never get it again.”
“What part do you miss most?”
“I don’t like dressing up, so it’s not that. And I hate fake conversation. But Willa and her partner had this romantic kiss under fireworks …” Her lip trembled.
“And you wonder if you made the wrong choice.” He gazed at her. She hadn’t noticed his blue eyes before. Fact from biology class: only eight percent of humans had blue eyes, because the gene that caused them was recessive. And those blue eyes were staring at her, not with pressure, but with understanding.
Guillaume drove Marlow to the Nenier parking lot. Marlow got out—a bit more nimbly this time—with a basket of food Madame Klein had made up, lest she get hungry. A baguette, cheese, jam,saucisson sec, as she called it—dry, hard sausage that would surely clog your arteries but was so delicious—red wine, a bottle of bubbly water, and drinking glasses.
