Page 39 of Meet Me in the Garden

“It’s where we live.”

“Are there things there that you need? Should I take you tomorrow to get them?”

“The door’s locked now,” she says. “I made a mistake.”

She turns away so that her back is to me. Enough for tonight. Clément likes it when I put my arm around him, but I don’t know what Nathalie likes. I give her arm a gentle squeeze and let go, stay next to her until she’s sleeping. It’s only then, her belly rising and falling, that I realize: There’s so much she could tell me about Delphine. I have an urge to shake her awake. Lace my fingers together to stop myself. She’s Delphine’s daughter. Her little girl. It wouldn’t be caring for her at all, to make her relive everything.

THIRTEEN

ADELE AND CLAIREspend the next week with Nathalie. They take her around with them on their errands. They meet with a social worker, who says they should enroll her in school, so they do. They buy her some play clothes, two church dresses at May & Co., and an Our Lady of Victory uniform. She’s still a mystery to me. But she’s shown an interest in music, so for the past few evenings after dinner we’ve browsed through the records together. I read her the names of the songs, let her pick which albums to listen to.

What I want, most in the world, is to see Delphine and tell her that her daughter is safe. But I call every few days and the hospital still won’t allow me to visit.

On Friday after work, my sisters give me the full day’s report. “Nathalie’s keeping to herself more than we would like,” Claire says, pouring dressing over a bowl of salad.

“It’s bound to change next week once she’s at school with the boys,” Adele says. She pulls a roast chicken from the oven. “They’ll have classmates and teachers in common. That’s bound to help. Okay, this just needs a minute to rest and then dinner will be served.”

“I’ll let the others know,” I say. I find Clément in his room, turning a page ofBlueberries for Sal, examining the illustration of Mama andSal in their crowded kitchen, jam jars strewn across the table. “How’s it going with your cousin?” I ask him.

“She’s nice.” I wait. He turns the page. “I’d like to meet a baby bear,” he says.

“I’d like that, too. Dinner’s ready.”

I find Nathalie in the yard, examining the grass, searching for something, whispering to herself now and then. “How was your day?” I ask her.

She shrugs. She plucks a daisy from the yard and stands to look at me. Her hair’s in her eyes and she pushes it away. Her nails are short and clean. “I go to school on Monday.”

“I saw the uniform. Are you excited?”

She shrugs again, pushes her hair again.

“How do you like to wear your hair?” I ask.

“Just down.”

“How about your bangs? Should I pull them back with a barrette?”

“I like them shorter.”

“Should I trim them for you?”

She nods.

After dinner, I have her sit on the edge of the tub, drape a towel over her front and shoulders like she’s in a salon. I kneel and tell her to hold very still and to shut her eyes. She looks just like Delphine did when we were small. I can’t think too much about it and still cut a straight line. Nathalie’s breath is warm on my hand as I hold her chin steady. I sit back, take a look, mess the bangs this way and that and even them out. “Okay, what do you think? Shorter?”

“Shorter,” she says. I take them to half an inch above her brow.

“You were right,” I say. “Shorter is much better.”

She keeps squeezing shut her eyes until I tell her to look again. And then here we are, reflected in the mirror. I’m in my work clothes still—trousers and a button-down blouse, my hair pulled back, some strands fallen loose. The purple under Nathalie’s eyes is fading. She’s sleeping better. She looks younger with her short bangs, her keen eyes regarding herself before offering a small nod of satisfaction.

Claire has a doctor’s appointment on Monday afternoon. She pulls up in her car just as Al and Bernard and I arrive home, and we all go in together. If Adele’s harried from an afternoon caring for five children, she doesn’t show it. She’s made a pot pie, reminds the kids to eat their string beans. Nathalie’s chair is across from mine, next to Claire’s, and she eats politely, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. Claire watches with appreciation.

“Now tell us: How was your first day of school?” Claire asks. “Did you make some new friends? Was it special, going to school with your cousins?”

Nathalie sets her fork down, looks hard at Clément and Rudy as though doubting they are who they claim to be. She picks up her fork again and continues to eat.

Claire’s brow twitches. “Nathalie, honey, I asked you a question.”