On the second of January, Rosalyn awoke as excited as a kid on Christmas morning: This was the day the village grocery store reopened. It wasn’t as though Rosalynneededanything—Pietro kept the little kitchen well stocked. But it was a signal that everyday life was resuming, awakening after a long holiday nap.
Still an early riser, Rosalyn arrived at eight in the morning, just as the store opened.
“Bonjour, madame,”Rosalyn said to the stocky woman in her fifties who sat on a stool behind the checkout counter. The woman’s hair was cut in a no-nonsense short do, and she wore a bright orange work smock over a heavy sweater and jeans. She had her nose in a paperback novel.
“Bonjour, madame,”said the shopkeeper.“Bonne année.”
“Et bonne année à vous,”Rosalyn responded.
It felt funny to hear her own voice after so many days of near-monastic silence. Other than to Pietro and the man at the gas station, she hadn’t uttered a word in a week.
Slinging a plastic basket over one arm, she meandered throughthe aisles of the small store, poking around and getting her bearings. Gazing at the assortment of salamis, pâtés, and cheeses, Rosalyn had to admit that Cochet’s store offered a higher-quality selection than her local 7-Eleven in Napa. Too bad it wasn’t open twenty-four hours a day.
The store sold a variety of breads, presumably since the town didn’t have its ownboulangerie. Probably the average French person would look down her Gallic nose at convenience store bread, but Rosalyn was happy to find it.
She lingered over a dainty display of round cakes decorated with frangipane, calledgalette des Rois, cake of kings. They were set upon delicate little glass stands lined with doilies, and though she wasn’t going to buy a whole cake just for herself, she was tempted.
Instead, she selected a simple baguette, somepâté de campagne, a ripe-looking Camembert, a bag of potato chips, some olives, a chocolate bar, and—this last was necessary—a package of toilet paper.
The woman behind the register placed her battered paperback facedown by the register when Rosalyn approached.
“Bonjour,”Rosalyn said again as she placed her basket of goodies on the counter.
“Bonjour, madame,”said the cashier with a nod, ringing up her items.
Rosalyn’s eyes fell on the book the woman had been reading. She formulated a sentence in her head before asking:“Y a-t-il une bibliothèque dans le village?”Is there a library in town?
“Pas en Cochet.”Not here in Cochet, the woman answered, her voice rough and deep, a smoker’s voice. “There is one in Trefeaux, and a beautiful one in Reims. They are on holiday hours now, though.”
“Holiday hours” meant “closed,” Rosalyn suspected.
“Sometimes the bus comes through,” the woman continued in French.
“The bus?”
“It’s a portable library bus.”
“Do you know if they have books in English?”
The cashier didn’t respond. The look on her face said plenty.
By now there were two people in line behind Rosalyn: a deeply tanned young woman wearing a very short skirt, high-heeled boots, and tights, and a woman in her sixties wearing a puffy purple down coat. They didn’t seem particularly friendly, but they waited patiently. It might have been in her imagination, but Rosalyn thought the younger woman was staring at the baguette in her basket.
Finally the young woman said: “Excuse me. There is aboulangeriein Salpot, not ten kilometers from here. It has much better bread.”
The cashier cast the woman a glare. “This bread is perfectly good.”
The woman in the short skirt arched her delicate eyebrows, pursed her lips, and looked away.
“I forgot something,” she mumbled, swore under her breath, and returned to the refrigerated section.
“That bread is perfectly good, very fresh,” the cashier assured Rosalyn. She looked at her expectantly. “You have no bag?”
“I...” Rosalyn suddenly understood why there were so many tote bags hanging in the pantry at Gaspard Blé’s place. She should have made the connection since in California shoppers were supposed to bring their own bags to stores, too, though it was no big deal if a person forgot—just a dime for a paper bag. That didn’t seem to be an option here. “No, pardon me.”
“Then you must buy one.”
“All right.”
