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“Are you a psychiatrist?” I ask with more animosity than necessary.
Her smile remains patient. “No, but I taught a lot of kids in my life, and I raised six of my own. You’re welcome to consult a professional. I’m just trying to help. It pains me to see a child as bright as Sophie not realizing her potential.”
I drop my head between my shoulders. Maybe it’s time to admit I’m not equipped for the role of instant father. “What do you suggest?”
She takes a stack of drawings from her desk and hands them to me. I flip through them. They’re child drawings of stick people standing on spiky green points I assume to be grass. Red flowers pop up from the green. Blue clouds and black M’s portraying birds fill the sky. A yellow square with a door and a triangle on the top forms a house in the background. A small stick person stands to the side while a bigger one is posed a distance away. The triangular skirts suggest they’re females.
Sophie and Sabella.
“All her drawings are the same,” the teacher says. “With that large distance between her and this woman. If I may ask, who’s Sabella?”
I look at her quickly. “What did Sophie say?”
“She talks about her a lot.” She waves a hand. “Sabella this and Sabella that. They seem close.”
My voice is clipped. “She’s my wife.”
“Ah,” she says with understanding. “Well, a child’s environment plays a big role in her development.” She straightens. “That’s all I wanted to share with you.”
I put the drawings on the corner of her desk. “Thank you.”
I’m halfway to the door when she says, “You’re sending the kids to school with a driver.”
I turn. “Yes?”
“Maybe you want to drive them yourself, like the other parents?”
“I’m busy. I work.”
The curve of her lips is patronizing. “So are the other parents.”
Yeah, well, they don’t run multi-billion-euro crime syndicates. I give her a cool smile in return and get the fuck out of there with the sinking notion of failure burning like a comet on my tail.
ChapterSeven
Sabella
The tidbits of reassurance from Heidi aren’t nearly enough to diminish my worry about Sophie. Early one morning, when I can’t stand it any longer, I walk to the village and hide behind the plane trees that line the street in front of the school in the hope of catching a glimpse of the children.
It’s a risk.
If Angelo spots me, he’ll no doubt lock me up in the house, but after how Sophie left, I need to see with my own eyes that she’s all right.
Most parents walk their kids to school. The village is small. A few do drop-offs in the small parking lot at the side of the building. I scan every car that comes up the road, but there’s no sign of Angelo or the children.
Five minutes before the bell rings, an SUV with tinted windows pulls up. A driver hops out and opens the back door. The three boys—Johan, Étienne, and Guillaume—peel out one after the other. Finally, Sophie’s delicate face appears. She takes the hand the driver offers and climbs to the ground. She’s wearing skinny jeans, Pocahontas style boots, and a puffy jacket. A backpack is slung over her shoulder.
The boys run with boisterous laughs to the entrance. She smiles at the driver and dips her head before trudging after her brothers. My heart squeezes when I take in her thin legs and small frame. The urge to run after her and hug her is so big that I have to force myself to walk away. I only get to the corner before my resolve weakens.
Knowing it’s a mistake, I retrace my steps and hover in front of the closed gate of the school. The building sits right on the street with the playground at the back. I walk along the pavement, trying to peer inconspicuously through the classroom windows. I’m acting like a looney or a stalker. I better be careful or someone will report me as a crazy person hanging around the school.
Just another quick look to ensure she’s fine. Then I’ll go.
A burst of laughter comes from the window in front of me. I stop next to it. The windowsill is at my eye level. I stand on tiptoes to see through the window frame. A bulky man stands in front of a blackboard on which words are written in English.
I gasp.
Roch?
