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I process the quietness of the house. “Where are they now?”
“Angelo is playing soccer with the boys, and Sophie is goalie. He wanted to give you time to eat in peace.”
“I prefer those little busy bodies to peace. I miss them.” I lower the spoon. “I was so worried when Angelo told me what happened.”
“That makes two of us.” She frowns. “It’s over now, and the kids don’t seem too traumatized. As I said, they’re already up to no good again. Étienne smuggled a mouse into the house. Can you believe it?”
“A mouse? How on Earth did he manage that?”
“He caught it behind the garages in a trap he made from sticks and old mesh. I should’ve known he was up to something when he asked me for a piece of cheese.”
The idea makes me grin. “The poor mouse.”
“He thought he could teach it tricks and carry it around on his shoulder like a tame mouse.” She scoffs. “The mouse escaped the minute it could, and Étienne didn’t tell us because he was scared he’d get into trouble. I realized there was a rodent in the house when I found holes chewed into the bags of flour and boxes of cereal in the pantry. I had to throw most of the food away. Étienne only came clean when I threatened to put out mouse traps.”
I can’t help but laugh, but I quickly swallow it down when my ribs protest. “What did Angelo say?”
“He said he’d get him a hand-raised, vaccinated mouse from a proper breeder and a decent mouse cage with a shelter and toys.” She folds her hands on her lap. “Then Sophie reminded him she wanted a puppy, at which Johan said if Étienne can have a mouse and Sophie a puppy, he wants a boa constrictor.”
I suppress another laugh. “What about Guillaume? What does he want?”
She lifts her gaze to the ceiling. “He wants to learn to play the piano. Apparently, his music teacher is a huge inspiration.”
“At least that’s easily doable,” I say with a chuckle.
She stands. “As you can imagine, Angelo has his hands full, but we wouldn’t want it any other way.” Giving my empty bowl an approving look, she asks, “Would you like more soup?”
“No, thank you. I can’t eat another bite.”
“I’ll tell Angelo you finished dinner so that he can bring the kids up to say goodnight,” she says as she collects the tray before adding on her way to the door, “Call me if you need anything.”
“I appreciate that.”
The door closes on her warm smile.
The food and the long nap restored my strength. If I don’t move too much, I don’t feel pain. At least not physically. The hurt that comes from a deep sense of loss is far more devastating.
The stampede that sounds in the hallway pulls me from the dark thought. The big, sturdy old house trembles under the onslaught of the little feet.
Sophie’s voice reaches me through the closed door. “Me first.”
“No, me,” Guillaume cries out.
“Stop pushing me,” Sophie yells.
Angelo’s tone is stern. “Everyone behaves or no one sees Sabella. She’s hurt, remember? You can’t storm in there like a herd of cattle.”
“Sophie stepped on my foot,” Guillaume whines. “She did it on purpose.”
Sophie’s reply is heated. “You were in my way.”
“Why does she get to go in first?” Étienne asks.
“I loved Sabella first,” Sophie replies.
“One at a time,” Angelo says. “You can all go in if you calm down.”
“I’m calm,” Guillaume says.
