Life Is A Foreign Language (35 page)

Sophie squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t need to feel guilty. If we knew what awaits us, we’d do a lot of things differently.”

The autopsy report—when it finally arrived—revealed that Michael had, indeed, been stung in the throat by a wasp. The throat swelled and closed, cutting off air with amazing rapidity, the autopsy report said. Michael died from suffocation.

So they were told.

As if the cause of his death made a difference.

The doctors said Michael must have been exceptionally sensitive to wasp venom because the reaction had been so strong, and the end came so quickly. Nina wanted to argue he wasn’t allergic to wasp stings. He’d told her so himself. But to argue would have been pointless.

He was gone.

The funeral was held on the Sunday two weeks after the Festival—a simple, beautiful service. The chapel was filled with the scent of Michael’s rose. Nina couldn’t call it by name; it was simply “his rose.” Reverend Oren Jones stood behind the casket, his head bowed, taking leave of a treasured friend. In the background, a flute played softly “Nights in White Satin.” Discussing the selection of music, they agreed on this piece when Nina mentioned that she knew Michael loved this ballad. A woven blanket of the “Nina Brochard” roses covered the coffin and cascaded all the way to the floor. This had been Nina’s only request; she didn’t want the casket to show.

Those who came to pay their last respects were so numerous most of them didn’t find room in the large chapel, but had to stay in the courtyard. As the ceremony began, they were drenched by a tropical shower, as brief as it was violent.

The sons had placed Nina in front with Brian on one side, Chris on the other. Cindy sat next to Brian, and the grandsons sat at each end of the pew.

Cindy had been very considerate of Nina, quiet and unassertive.

While they were having dinner one night in Brian and Samantha’s home, Cindy had placed a hand on Nina’s. “I’m only Michael’s ex-wife—you were his future. He talked about you constantly. He told me he hoped you would agree to marry him, make him a happy man. I’m glad you said yes, and I want you to know we’re all grateful that you made his last days so sunny and filled with hope.”

Embarrassed by the ungenerous thoughts she’d sometimes had about Cindy, Nina patted her arm. “Thank you for saying that.”

Nina brushed away a tear. “It was important to Michael that you be comfortable here during your stay. It must be so difficult to live far away from your children—I should know. We have that in common.”

Throughout the days when they had discussed and planned this ceremony, they’d insisted that Nina was family, and she was very grateful for their generosity in including her. Their shared grief bridged any awkwardness they might have felt from being thrust together so abruptly. They were all joined now, Michael’s closest family. Only Samantha was absent. Midweek following the Festival, she gave birth to her first child, a little girl.

They named her Michaela Rose.

Nina’s attention returned to the ceremony. Oren Jones spoke of Michael’s work, of his dedication to provide good medicine for all. He spoke of Michael’s commitments in the community, his efforts to make it a safer place, cleaner of drugs. He knew Michael well, and Nina was pleased that somebody Michael had respected and loved spoke of him, the person, the man, not mouthing trivialities, as was often the case. The bond between Michael and Oren was their love of nature, music, and people; both followed the spiritual path.

The organist played Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” A vocalist sang Gabriel Fauré’s “Après Un Rêve … After a dream.” It was very beautiful, so in keeping with Michael, simple and dignified.

His family, Nina included, stood to receive the silent condolences of those paying their respects. She knew hardly any of them. Those she recognized, who knew her, patted her arm or squeezed her hand. Barry was there. Without a word, he took her in his arms. Sophie looked distressed, her face mottled from crying. She kissed Nina on the cheek, mumbling something Nina didn’t catch. Marley stopped in front of Nina, holding up the quiet procession. His face was wet with tears. Taking her hands, he held them against his cheeks. And she saw Michael’s face so clearly. Peter felt her sway precariously and helped her sit down. Nina saw Michael put to rest.

Chapter 41
 

In the weeks after Michael was taken from her, Nina’s days were filled with a blinding absence of light. Darkness inhabited her. She arose in the morning and went to bed at night, but was hard put to account for the hours in between. Michael was gone, but it was too much for her mind to grasp, her heart refused to believe it was true. She waited for him, smelled his scent, heard his voice. He was present with her, night and day.

The days before the funeral were lost in a haze—she was only aware of an abyss ready to swallow her, and a pain that defied description.

On the Tuesday of her scheduled session with Marley, Nina had pulled herself together enough to drive to the clinic. Once there, she was been glad she’d come; Marley had waited for her, sitting outside the front door in the heat. When she got out of the car he sauntered to meet her.

He placed his hand on her heart. “M’am Nina, I’m glad you come. Afraid you feel too much hurt.”

“I do hurt, but I figured you do, too. I wanted to come. Perhaps we can help each other a little bit.”

Nina rang the bell. While they waited for the buzz to open the door, Marley stuck his hand in hers. Inside, they found that Wanda had been replaced by an older receptionist Nina didn’t know.

“I’m Nina Brochard. I have a session with Marley.”

“Yes. Doctor Hamilton’s office is available.”

“Doctor Hamilton” sounded strange to Nina. For a moment she felt disoriented, then it struck her; the new receptionist didn’t know Michael. To her he was just a name.

They walked together, Marley’s hand in hers, and stopped simultaneously on the threshold to Michael’s office, both reluctant to enter. She gave the door a shove and peered inside. Nothing had changed from last time; even the roll of tissue was on the floor where she’d left it last week.

Nina took the first step into the office, Marley trailing behind.

“Where would you like to sit?” she asked.

He pointed. “Is good on the floor.” He sat with arms around his legs, the cap on one knee.

Nina sat at an angle to him, as before, close enough so he could touch her if he wanted to, but keeping a distance to allow him space.

“Talk about Mon,” he said.

“That’s good. Let’s talk about Michael. Do you want to start?”

For a few moments he was silent, hands hiding his face. When he spoke his voice was low and nasal from tears he tried to suppress. “Why Mon go ‘way, M’am Nina? He no longer loves Marley?”

Oh dear.
“No, Marley, no. He loved you very much. I know because he told me so. He would have wanted to stay. Everybody loved him. It was a stupid accident, that’s all.”

Most of the hour was spent in silence. Every now and then Marley withdrew inside, then he would ask a question. Whether he heard her answer or not, she couldn’t tell. When they were preparing to leave, he spoke so low she missed it.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but not a sound issued forth. Tears rolled down his face. He seemed so forlorn and lonely the way he stood, arms hanging at his sides, shoulders stooped. “Mon’s gone. Now Marley has nobody, Marley all alone.”

She drew close, as close as she dared. “No, that’s not true. You’re part of his family. Michael’s sons are like brothers to you. And you have me. I won’t let you down.”

He took her hand, holding it against his cheek.

Nina had put her arms around his frail shoulders. It may not have been the professional thing to do, but her gesture was dictated by a need to comfort him, relieve him from a pain no one so young should know. Michael had been his anchor and center, the only one Marley had known. Having lost that, he was floundering. Arrangements had to be made for him, immediately.

Later, over dinner in Brian’s home with Peter, Chris and their wives present, Nina had brought up the subject. They all agreed that Marley should live with one or the other of them. The foster parents were good people, but with Michael gone from his life, Marley needed an attachment to Michael’s family. The decision was really very simple; Marley was to live with Peter and Ally, an arrangement that would benefit everybody. Their two sons would be a good influence on Marley. They knew each other and were buddies. Ally was fond of Marley, glad to take him in. Peter would talk to him the very next day and if things worked out, they would take the necessary legal action to change foster homes.

Nina returned to France. While she prepared for the trip—buying presents and seeing to her wardrobe for a cooler climate—those were moments she didn’t spend in tormenting grief, cold from sadness, waiting for him, hearing his voice. Michael left a void, making the longing for her children and granddaughters even more poignant. The need to be with her children and the twins was like a physical craving, urgent and strong.

The day before boarding the plane for the long trip to France, Nina mailed the manuscript of her novel to Nicholson Publishing House. About to hand over the carton with it’s contents to the postal employee, she stood with eyes half closed, holding on to it an instant longer, saying a silent prayer that the publisher would like her work enough to publish it.

Annecy was lovely in June. Nature dressed early summer in its loveliest, most vibrant colors. Nina breathed deeply of the smell of damp earth following a rain shower.

It was strange not to have a home to go to in her hometown. She planned to take a hotel room, but Lillian and Jean-Luc, as well as the twins were insistent that she stay in their guestroom. At first she found it difficult to adjust to being a guest, to live with other people, but after the first awkward moments, she found comfort in their presence and love.

Nina enjoyed getting up in the mornings, preparing the twins’ breakfast, spending the day going to the lake, a picnic in the hills, weather permitting. On rainy days she lit a fire; gathered around the fireplace they took turns reading aloud. They browsed the flea market, playing guessing games about the provenance of the people speaking foreign languages. They had ice cream at a small table in a street café by the canal—privileged moments when everything was almost normal, and Nina smiled and joked with the girls as before.

Underneath the smiling and carefree front she wished she could stay in bed for a day, for a week, until Michael returned. In the daytime her family created a diversion—at night she hid her face in the pillow to muffle the soul wrenching sobs. She dreamt of Michael, saw his dancing eyes, felt his warm hands hold her. Upon awakening she was thrust into the pit of bottomless despair to realize he was gone, really gone for good.
My feelings can’t adjust to it, it’s too much for my mind to grasp. All I know is I want him back.

From time to time Nina would think about her novel, imagining Mr. Helman reading it. On one such occasion, strolling in the yard with Lillian she stopped walking, eyes lost in the greenery of the forest near by.

Concern was etched on Lillian’s furrowed brow as she put a hand on Nina’s arm. “What’s the matter, Mami? Are you all right?”

She nodded, smiling. “Yes, I’m fine. Since I mailed my novel to Nicholson Publishing before I left for France I’ve been worried that they may reject it. It’s more important to me than I realized that Mr. Helman will like it.”

“He’ll like it if it’s nearly as good as your two non-fiction books.”

She pressed her cheek against Lillian’s. “Thanks for the encouraging words, chérie.”

Natalie and Morgan were excited about their forthcoming trip to Florida.

They sat in the sun at a sidewalk café having pastries and tea. Morgan brushed strands of wheat blond hair off her forehead and ran her hand up and down Nina’s arm. “Mami, we could get our driver’s licenses in Cape Coral, couldn’t we?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find out. There are so many things I want to show you. We’ll go on a tour of the Everglades. I’d like to take you down to Key West to go snorkeling. There’s Epcot Center, Walt Disney and so much more for you to see and experience.

“You’ll meet Michael’s son, Brian.” Nina ate a forkful of her pastry. “He and his wife have just had a baby girl, Michaela.”

Natalie’s eyes sparkled. “Awesome! Do you think we get to baby-sit?”

“I think Samantha might let you. Anyway, Brian owns a yacht, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to take us to the Gulf of Mexico. If we’re lucky, we may see dolphins. I’ve been told it’s such a great experience to race them in the boat. They’re so sleek and beautiful—they come so close you can almost touch them.”

“Haven’t you seen them, Mami?” Natalie asked.

“No, I’ve not been that lucky. Maybe this time.”

Nina was a surprised to find that she was making plans. It meant she dared look ahead to a future without Michael.

During her weeks in Annecy, Nina’s foremost priority was the cementing of her relationship with Lillian. She took every opportunity to spend time with her daughter; she met her after work for a drink in town before heading home. If Jean-Luc was absent, Nina requested that Lillian join her for dinner in one of their favorite restaurants. Sometimes she cooked one of her specialties—shrimp marinated in garlic and spices, or chicken flavored with citronella and green curry—having a cozy supper in the living room in front of a blazing fire. At first, Lillian was stiff and somewhat distant. Nina guessed that she didn’t quite know how to deal with her mother in the role of the grieving lover.

“Lillian,” she said one Sunday afternoon. They were having tea in the kitchen, Jean-Luc and the twins gone to attend a ballet matinee. “You don’t need to be afraid to talk about Michael, you know.”

Lillian glanced at her, looked into her teacup and nodded. “Are you sure it’s good for you to talk about him? I mean, it’s still so fresh, the pain must be awful.”

Nina nodded. “You’re right, the pain is crushing, but it’s healthy to get it out.”