Page 14
“It was the height of summer.”
“Ah, yes,” he said into the evening air. “I remember it well.”
“You nut,” she laughed, recognizing the reference.
He smiled. And squeezed her arm. As they passed men and women, young and old, lovers and strangers, strolling like them along rue des Quatre-Fils.
“Ready?” Daniel called upstairs.
“Can’t we come with you, Daddy?” Florence asked.
She and her sister were already in the flannel pajamas their grandparents had brought from Québec.
Moose roamed Florence’s pajamas, while baby black bears played on Zora’s.
The sisters stood side by side in the living room, looking up at their father.
“Non, mes petits singes,” Daniel said, kneeling down. “My little monkeys. You need to stay here and play with your cousin.”
They looked over at Honoré, asleep on a blanket on the floor.
“He’s not much fun,” said Zora, uncertainly.
Tante Annie laughed from the depth of the chair she’d sunk into. The babysitters had arrived. They just needed Roslyn.
“Judging by the kicks,” Annie said, putting a hand on her stomach, “the next one might never sleep. Want to feel?”
The girls raced each other over, and while they placed their tiny hands on the enormous belly, Jean-Guy and Daniel drifted together.
“I remember that,” said Daniel. His deep voice was wistful, soft. “When Roslyn was pregnant. It seemed incredible.”
Jean-Guy watched Annie as she smiled and nodded, listening to the girls. Florence, the eldest at six, took after her mother. Slender, athletic, extroverted.
Zora took after her father. Large-boned, slightly awkward, shyer. Where Florence could be impetuous, chasing balls, running into lampposts, skinning her knees leaping off swings, Zora was calmer, gentler. More thoughtful.
Where Florence decided she was afraid of birds, shrieking in the park and running away, Zora stood with a handful of bread, feeding them.
Watching them, Jean-Guy was so grateful that their unborn daughter would have them to play with, and Honoré, who was fiercely loyal, as her brother. She’d need it. Him. Them.
And what would Honoré get, in his sister?
A lifetime of love, he hoped. And responsibility, he knew.
He looked at his sleeping son, and felt that pang of guilt, for what he was being given, without his consent.
“I’m here,” said Roslyn, hurrying down the stairs from their bedroom. “Sorry I’m late. Here, let me help you.”
She put out her hand, and together with Jean-Guy and Daniel, they hauled Annie out of the chair.
“Did you hear a thucking sound?” Jean-Guy asked.
“Thuck off,” said Annie.
She put her arm through his, and he held her close as they stepped into the cool September evening.
Armand and Reine-Marie got off the bus at the familiar stop. The Bibliothèque nationale.
Armand glanced around. It would appear, to any fellow passenger also alighting, as though he was just getting his bearings.
