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11
“How do I look?” Kira asked, finger combing the waves in her hair.
Luc looked at his wife, wearing an all-white shirt and pants combo. The past night, he’d sent her to their bedroom while he’d gone to greet his mother. He knew his mother didn’t like socializing at night, and introducing a new person would only upset her and help no one. And now, a few feet from his mother’s room, with the sunlight flooding the hallways, she stood. Stunning, stealing every bit of breath from his lungs. “Trop belle.”
A small smile pulled at her lips. “You’re not calling me any weird names, right?”
“I save those for the bedroom.”
“Just like I imagined.”
He cocked his head in the direction of his mother’s bedroom. He’d never introduced a girl to his mother. First, he hadn’t really had close relationships with women for long periods of time. Then, it became easier not to. And now… he sighed. She wouldn’t remember it.
He opened the door and entered, feeling her footsteps behind him. Her presence soothed his soul like a warm honey did a parched throat.
The nurse, Celine, nodded at him, then quietly exited the room, holding the empty breakfast tray.
His mother, Hélène Beauford, sat by the round table, looking at the garden view through the window.
“Maman,” he called her.
She slowly turned her head around, shifting a bit in the wheelchair. “Luc,” she said, with a smile. “It’s so nice to see you, my son.” Then she glanced around, as if she was looking for someone, without paying any attention to Kira. “Have you seen your brother? He’s always running around somewhere.”
Luc sucked in a breath. Her asking for his brother had become more and more common. At first, he’d explain that Marcel had died, but then explaining became superfluous. Information, old and new, scrambled in her brain, and many times she’d ask the same question a few times in the same conversation. He should be used to it by now.
“I’m sure we’ll find him soon, Maman,” he said. “I want you to meet a friend,” he said, then gestured to Kira. “She’s American.”
Kira gave one step forward, and waved her fingers gently, then said, “Bon jour.”
“A friend, huh?” his mother repeated, and now gazed at his wife with a glint in her eyes.
Guilt traced down his spine. He could have introduced her as his wife, but that would only confuse his mother. She’d ask questions—many of them to which answers he didn’t have. She’d make plans for a wedding party in France that would not take place. She may even hint at future grandchildren.
“A great one,” he said.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kira said in English. “Thank you for having me in your home.”
Luc translated the exchange to his mother, who asked Kira questions about her. Her age, her occupation, and Texas. Luc became the vessel for the conversation, interpreting while watching the soft, happy expression in his mother’s face. His shoulders relaxed, and he let out a long breath.
“How did you two meet?” his mother asked.
Kira looked at him, waiting for him to translate to English.
“Mutual friend,” he answered.
“Was it Jacques? He’s always such a lady’s man,” she said, mentioning a friend from the teenage years he hadn’t seen in a couple decades.
“No, someone from work,” he said. He wouldn’t dare mention his father’s name to her, or that he’d worked with him. He didn’t want his mother to worry, or bring back bad memories.
“Your home is beautiful,” Kira said.
“She said she loves your home.”
His mother tilted her head to the side, then watched Kira with interest. “Thank you.” Then the expression in her face shifted, a glint of curiosity touching her eyes. She whispered to Luc, “Who is she?”
A pang of sadness stabbed at him. He knew he didn’t have the right to feel it. Instead, he should be grateful for his mother remembering him still. For being able to speak, and communicate, and hug him. She would never be the mother-in-law who could welcome his wife and share jokes—not for longer than a few minutes, anyway. She was his mother—the woman who had sacrificed a lot, who had trusted the wrong man, who had done the best she could. She was all he had. “A friend. An extraordinary friend, Maman.”
* * *
