“I’m thinking of leaving Loisail,” she said, as if she’d perceived his silent question.
“The Grand Season has not ended,” he replied.
“I know. I may cut it short.”
Hector nodded. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing. Anyone, looking from the outside in, would say everything is perfect.”
The rain made the street hazy; it distorted it. The shop was empty save for a man who was half-asleep in a corner and the employee behind the counter. In this cocoon of warmth, they sat close.
He took off his gloves. “I think I’d miss you if you were to disappear,” he said in a low voice.
“I could write to you,” she replied.
He realized they’d had the exact same conversation the previous spring, but their roles had been inverse. He chuckled, and likely noticing the irony, she laughed.
“Don’t worry, Hector. I won’t take off yet, and I wouldn’t leave without saying my good-byes first.”
“I’m grateful for that,” he said, trying not to sound hurt, trying not to cringe, and he managed it.
She’d leave him.
It was to be expected.
Nina turned her head, in profile, to look out the window. Her hair was pinned up carefully in place, the collar of her pastel-colored dress high. He thought she was imitating another girl, a wealthy heiress out on society calls. She didn’t look like Nina that day. But then, shewasa wealthy girl, and he was, likely,oneof her calls, even a charity case. By now, Luc Lémy must have taken her to the right parties, introduced her to all the Beautiful Ones in Loisail.
“I try to imagine sometimes, what it must have been, for you to leave for Iblevad. To take that leap, without knowing if you’d fail or succeed,” she said. “Weren’t you afraid?”
“I was terrified,” he said. “But I couldn’t have done anything differently.”
The engine of his actions had been his belief in love, in happiness. The mention of his voyage obliquely included Valérie, and perhaps that was why Nina looked down at the slices of lemon, her brow furrowed.
“Nor would I have wanted to. I am glad of who I am now. You don’t know that when you begin a journey, and looking back the picture is not always pretty, but I wouldn’t take any of it back.”
“Not even your heartbreak?” she asked, stirring sugar cubes with her mind.
“I doubt the tree complains about the arid seasons and the overwhelming rains as it counts its rings.”
“You are wiser than I, then.”
“A little older,” he said. “Not much wiser.”
She was looking outside again, did not seem able to remain with him even if they sat together. Her index finger slowly traced a sliding drop of water against the glass.
“I do not understand what I want. Do you think that changes as you get older?” she asked.
She had turned her face toward him again, expectantly. Hector, who was accustomed to being observed by multitudes, felt shy under thescrutiny of those hazel eyes. He demurred because he realized there was another question under the question, and he did not know what the hell to say.
“I think it is always difficult to determine that,” he said. “And mistakes will be made.”
“Yes,” she said, sipping her tea.
If the day hadn’t been gloomy, perhaps their conversation wouldn’t be tinged with this pensiveness. And she’d been happy in Oldhouse, and he’d been happy, too, when she smiled. Although she was the one who provided their merriment, he decided it would fall upon him this time to distract them.
“Here, now, do you think we can build a house out of these sugar cubes?” he asked, and as he spoke, the blocks assembled themselves into a box.
“We wouldn’t have enough.”
