Page 7 of Meet Me in the Garden

I shouldn’t say anything more, I know. But I’m a little stung from the days, more frequent now, that Delphine doesn’t meet me. “I get this feeling,” I tell him. “A bad one, every time I think about it.”

He nods. “Yeah. I get that.”

Washing up after dinner, the men across the house playing cards in the living room, Claire says, “Odette, come sit. Adele and I have been wondering if any boys have been catching your eye.”

“You’re out who-knows-where so often,” Adele says. “Are you spending time with someone?”

“Just Delphine,” I say. I hate to lie to them, hate that I have to, wish it wasn’t so.

“Anyone you’re sweet on?” Claire asks, flashing a little smile.

To be desperately in love without them knowing—it makes me want to sink into the floorboards. “I haven’t been thinking about boys much.”

“Of course not,” Claire says. “With so much change these past months. Still, it would be nice to have you settled soon.”

Adele lights a cigarette. “We realized it might be tricky to find a nice Creole boy in Los Angeles. Atrulysuitable one, as good as Bernard and Al. The kind of husband you deserve.” She takes a drag, lets the smoke out slowly. “You know,” she says, “I’ve heard murmurings a few times after Mass. A certain boy who has his eye on you.”

I can’t hold her gaze. I turn to the tabletop. My face, faintly visible in its glossy surface.

“She’s gotten shy all of a sudden,” Claire says. Lightly, she pinches my cheek. “Go on. Who is it?”

“Cyril Laurent,” Adele says.

“Well,that’sa nice thing to think about,” Claire says. “Isn’t it, Odette?”

I thought that was over. I force myself to nod.

“Speaking of Cyril Laurent, I’ve been contemplating our New Year’s Eve dresses,” Adele says. “What if we used the black ones from two years ago but modified them?”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Claire says. “You know how I’ve been eyeing that organza at Halpern’s. Odette, it’s the sheerest black with little polka dots. We could splurge on just enough for trim. Change the sleevesand the necklines, bring them up a little. No one will guess they’re the same dresses.”

My sisters talk and plan. I watch my reflection on the tabletop, moving up and down when they ask me a question. I could paint myself this way—distorted, only barely here.

FOUR

DELPHINE DOESN’T MEET MEINthe garden for a long stretch of days. She’s off with Bill, she’s left me alone. I still go every afternoon just in case.

It’s the second week of December and the next batch of tables are ready for assembly. My sisters and I are sorting our clothing, choosing our favorite pieces to keep, giving the others away. We’re selling our jewelry. I’m going along with everything. I don’t know what else to do. On Thursdays, I tell Hattie how close we’re getting to leaving, search for traces of sadness, for evidence that she loves me. She has little to say. Her hands hold steady as she guides fabric through the machine.

And then, one afternoon, when I go to the garden, Delphine’s there. On the bench, swollen-eyed, pinching the inside of her elbow. She drops her hand when she sees me and there’s a raw spot from where she’s twisted the skin.

“What is it?” I ask. “He didn’t end things, did he?”

“No,” she says. “But…” She takes my hand, lays it against her stomach. It’s firm and rounded where it used to be flat.

“Oh,” I say. “I thought—”

“We were,” she says. “He told me he was. But at the very beginning, there was a night when he got carried away. He didn’t stop in time.”

A tightness in my lungs. I want to gather all the photographs he ever took and light them on fire. I breathe. Steady myself. Ask her how long she’s known.

“I guess, if I’m honest, I’ve been trying tonotknow for a while now. Hey. Odette. Will you look at me?” Her eyelids are pink and full, like they’d be painful to the touch. But there’s some light in her eyes. “Bill’s happy. Can you believe it? But Maman found me out. She hasn’t told your mother yet. She wants to send me away.”

“Away?”

“To the hospital. Where they sent your father.” My heart stops. Delphine, in that place. “She says I’ve been acting strangely. Ihaven’t. But it doesn’t even matter. All I have to be is an unwed mother, and they can keep me there.”

“No,” I say. “Bill needs to marry you, then.”