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And I pressed closer to his back when Colette’s face twisted and she shrieked, “I knew it! You always take his side! You never loved me. You and your father, you and your father. YOU AND YOUR FATHER!”
“Colette, calm down and go see to yourself,” Guillaume ordered, approaching her.
But she stepped back, not taking her eyes off Remy, so I wrapped my arm around his belly and my heart sank a bit when I saw the other doors in the hall were open.
Not that they couldn’t already hear, but our children were blatantly listening.
Listening to their father’s life growing up performed in a drama in the hallway.
“And just like your father, off fucking other women, when your wife is at home raising your children,” she accused.
Remy started to back up, I knew, to push me into our room as he called, “Kids, doors closed!”
“They should know, do you not agree?” Colette asked. Then shouted, “Don’t you walk away from me, Remy Jacques Gastineau!”
“Mom, you need to—” Remy began.
“I need to what?’ she demanded. Suddenly, she looked at me. “You!”
Remy pushed harder and I was in the room.
He was closing the door when she screamed, “You let him leave! What kind of wife are you? You let him leave!”
He turned to me.
I framed his face and ordered straightaway, “Honey, look at me.”
“Don’t you touch me!” Colette shrieked. “She wears his rings! She let him go and she wears his rings! Don’t you dare TOUCH ME!”
Her voice had been going down the hall and then the door slammed again.
His mind was to that, I could see it, so I repeated, “Look at me, Remy.”
We heard a loud bump.
And Remy was out the door, gone.
I raced after him.
“Back in your rooms,” he snarled at our kids who were now in the hall.
He shot through the door at the other end, I went in after him and stopped dead.
Colette was standing holding a heavy glass orb in her hand.
With apparent difficulty, Guillaume was trying to pick himself up from the floor, at the same time holding his jaw.
Remy crouched by his dad, but he looked to his mom. “Did you hit him?”
She shook her hair and demanded coldly, “Get out of our room.”
I dashed to Remy and Guillaume. Colette made a move toward me as I did, I skirted her easily, but suddenly Remy was there between her and me.
He yanked the orb out of her hand, and he was not gentle, but how he did it did not harm her, and she cried out like he’d assaulted her.
“Come with me to the kitchen,” I whispered to Guillaume and his already swelling jaw. “We’ll get some ice.”
“He was hurting me,” Colette claimed.
“Come with me, please,” I repeated to Guillaume.
“Come on, Pépé.” Sah was there, stronger than me, carefully helping his grandfather up.
“Oh, he’s so suave. He’s so charming. You’re all under his spell,” Colette mocked as Manon got close to Guillaume’s other side and slipped an arm around him while he held his jaw. Sabre took his weight, and they started walking their grandfather to the door. “I know what that feels like. It’s so very beautiful. Until he betrays you.”
“Grandmama, let’s talk, okay?” Yves, standing by his father, cutting her off from Guillaume, Sah, Manon and me, urged. “You can get dressed. We’ll go out. Get some chicory coffee.”
“He touched me, Yves,” she pouted.
“I’ll make some coffee, bring it up,” Yves said.
“Melisande makes it perfectly,” she sniffed.
“I’ll go get some, bring it up,” Yves pushed.
“My perfect boy,” she half-whispered, the other half was a fawning coo.
My perfect boy.
A chill went down my spine, sending out shards of pain and freezing my blood in my veins.
She’d said that to Yves before.
When he was being good, catering to her crazy-ass needs, had she said that to Remy?
Good God.
Now I understood his driving need to be perfect if this was what he was up against.
This had been his life.
This had been his childhood.
I had no idea how I kept my feet because my heart had shattered.
“Son—” Remy started.
“Got this, Dad,” Yves murmured.
“Son—”
Yves turned to his father. “Got it.”
Unable to bury my need to get my husband away from her, I went to them, grabbed Remy’s hand and tugged.
He looked down to me.
And the look on his face destroyed me.
Yes.
He’d tried to be her perfect boy.
Fuck.
It sucked she was dying because I wanted to kill her.
Colette spoke.
“I am so very sorry, Wyn, I don’t know…” I turned to Colette, who was holding her robe together at her chest, gazing about as if dazed and she didn’t know where she was, the wily, crazy, bitchface fox, “…what came over me.”
I said nothing, just looked to my son as I pulled his father to the door.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Yves said. “I’ll be right down to get some coffee.”
I studied him.
