As she stared into the glass, her vision blurred with tears and, before she could blink, glimpsed out of the corner of one eye the figure of a smiling boy holding his cupped hands up to her as though he wanted to show her something. In his small hands she saw for the briefest moment a tiny gleaming pearl. Startled, she blinked and spun around. Nothing. Great, she thought, now I’ve lost my mind. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She brushed at what she thought must be a fly in the room with her. It was still there, and she brushed at it again. Still there. Exasperated, she left the bathroom to answer the door. Her tea had arrived.
It was late in the evening when Paul arrived back at the inn. Piper was sleeping on the chair in which she’d had her tea, her feet resting on the ottoman, a blanket around her shoulders. Paul kneeled next to her and shook her shoulder. “I’m back, Honey.”
She stirred and opened her eyes. Her anger still brimming, she stared at her husband but didn’t speak. He knew the look all too well and knew that she never communicated effectively when she was in this state, so he decided to wash up and give her space. She could smell what must have been a delicious dinner on his breath as he quickly kissed her furrowed brow. He was enjoying himself while I was lying in that god awful hospital bed, she thought.
She got up from the chair and walked quietly to the closet where her clothes hung. Pulling on a pair of jeans and thin red sweater and then slipping into her shoes, she snuck out of the room before Paul finished brushing his teeth. She still wanted to be alone with her thoughts and her anger. When she felt like this her sharp tongue seemed to have a mind of its own, and she didn’t want to hurt Paul. He was hurting, too, she knew; but to keep his appointment with Freddy at the vineyard after what had happened seemed a bit cold if not cruel. It wasn’t like Paul.
Piper welcomed the cool night air and let it fill her lungs and feed her blood. She felt wide awake and wanted nothing more than to be at home getting ready to ride out to the pond and watch the ducks come in for their noisy landing. She closed her eyes and pictured her house, her barn, her horses, and couldn’t wait for the next few days to pass her by so that she could be there, right where she belonged. France was beautiful, but the way that she was feeling right now, and the things that had occurred since she landed, left her feeling more than a little homesick; but not quite displaced.
Paul heard the door close and stuck his head into the bedroom, glancing around to see if Piper really had just walked out into the night. He stood shaking his head and thought about going after her, but quickly thought better of it. His wife was not the kind of woman who wanted to be chased after when she stormed out. When she was that heated, she truly meant to be by herself, inside herself. She once confided in Paul that sometimes she had lied to him when they were dating about having other plans. These were times that she simply wanted to be alone, to listen to her music, and to write whatever was on her mind. He suggested that maybe she was a little depressed, to which she responded, “Don’t flatter yourself.” He never challenged her on this point ever again. She was a deeply thoughtful person who could handle a lot of stress effortlessly to a point; but when she reached her limit, she crashed.
Walking purposefully down the crushed gravel drive of the inn, despite having no idea where she was going to wind up, suddenly invigorated Piper. The brisk night air felt good and she loved the feeling of adrenaline rushing through her veins. She remembered there being a tavern at the end of the road that Paul had said they ought to try before they left. She thought to herself, Yes, I will try it before I leave. She walked faster and faster and finally broke into a run, the wind pushing her hair from her face and making her clean skin feel young and new. As she reached the door of the tavern she slowed just enough to catch her breath. The lights glowed inside, and she could see through the window that it was quite crowded. She smiled when she saw the door handle was a draft horseshoe. She pulled hard on the thick, heavy, wooden door and was met with the faces of strangers, music, and the scent of cigar smoke, something she secretly loved. Her father and grandfather both smoked and the scent of tobacco reminded her of Christmas Eve, the whole family around the table sharing the seven fishes, pasta, stories of generations past. Some of Piper’s fondest memories were of the times when the conversation between her great aunts went from the size of the meatballs in the Wedding Soup to the outrage of the price of chicken breast at the grocery store. It was only on this night that anyone was allowed to smoke indoors. Her grandmother said it took the next 364 days to get the smell out of her house. I miss you, Noni, she whispered and drew in breath through her nose, knowing the scent of anisette was not at the tavern.
Feeling completely anonymous, she smiled as she approached the bar and caught the eye of the bartender who did a double take, causing several patrons to turn in the direction of his gaze. A few men looked her up and down, causing their dates to scowl in return. Piper’s cheeks were pink from her run and the fresh air had given her shiny black hair a wispy fullness, lending her a bit of a wild look, something she normally tried to avoid but tonight didn’t mind one bit. No one knows me here. I can be who and whatever I want.
“I’ll have a scotch, please.” She ordered with a sense of urgency and deliberateness that Paul would have been surprised at had he been at her side. Realizing then that she had not been in a bar without Paul since they began dating ten years before, had her feeling a bit guilty. “Whatever,” she muttered to herself as the young man approached with her drink. She took the glass directly from the bartender’s hand and as she looked at his hand, she was struck with the feeling of déjà vu, something she’d heard other people talk about. She had never experienced it previously, but now likened it to her scentaches. She seemed to know that he would rub his nose nervously when she thanked him for the drink. She stared for only a moment at his beautiful shy eyes. Then she tipped the glass up and let the liquid fire numb her grieving insides. An elderly gentleman nodded at her ambition and stood up to offer her his seat which she gladly accepted. She hadn’t eaten in almost forty-eight hours and was suddenly ravenous. She asked the bartender if there was a menu she could look at.
“Well, madam, it’s a little late so I will check to see what we have. This is okay?” She nodded and added, “And I’ll have another scotch when you get back.”
He smiled and dropped his gaze to the bar top before departing. The man who gave up his seat asked if she was on holiday. “No, not really,” she replied. “I’m here,” she hesitated, “just visiting … on business, sort of.” The alcohol had gone straight from her lips to her brain it seemed, and the man looked at her with a mix of amusement and understanding.
He put his hands into his trouser pockets and said, “We all need a place we can go to just escape, right?” She nodded her appreciation, but before she could ask if he lived in the area, he was gone. The bartender came back and informed her that there was plenty of fish and a few Cornish hens left, and she could have either served with potatoes or rice or both, whatever she wanted. She looked at him for a moment and felt like she knew him, or wanted to know him, or maybe she just wanted that scotch.
“I’ll have the hen, my friend, and some rice would be great.”
He nodded, and called through the kitchen door to the chef to make the lady a nice dish fit for a queen. She smiled at him, and this time he smiled back. Piper hadn’t the faintest idea why, but she felt that this man could easily be one of those people that once they walk into your life, they never leave. It’s just the liquor, Piper, she reminded herself and turned her attention to the other side of the bar. There were couples sitting so close they were wasting bar stools, hands in places they shouldn’t be in public. The smoke in the air was so thick that it hung like a semi-private screen for those who were too drunk to realize they were actually in public view. She thought to herself that she was glad she had skipped out on all the bar-hopping her friends had done in college. She loved going out, but only with someone special, not just for the sake of sitting arou
nd having men undress her with their lewd intentions. But now, thousands of miles from herself and her home, she felt a sort of freedom she had never before felt. What was to stop her from being someone else right now? Nobody knew her here, and in two short days, she’d be on a plane headed back to Massachusetts and her life with Paul on their farm. She would never see any of these people again, much less have to answer to any of them.
After she finished her second scotch, another man approached her and asked if he might join her for a drink.
“Sure,” she said, not feeling one bit out of line. “I’m Piper by the way.”
She reached out to shake his hand and had the conscious thought that she was not at work and didn’t need to be so forward.
She drew in a deep breath and this time she didn’t experience the anisette but a sweet mixture of cinnamon and cloves and something familiar and pungent. Ugh, she thought … burnt raisins.
“Piper? Really. Truly?” The handsome gray-haired gentleman’s eyes brightened and she visibly noticed his pupils enlarge as he scanned hers.
“My great-great grandmother was Piper. It’s such an unusual name; you don’t hear it often,” he said, and nodded.
Piper reached for her third Scotch a few seconds after it arrived, like a quiet guest who doesn’t want to interrupt, but everyone notices. As she took a slower sip this time, she saw in her mind’s eye a pregnant young woman juggling a toddler and an armful of packages for an elderly woman who sat at a table, smiling, taking in the scene.
When she returned the glass to the bar top she looked at the man who was studying her face intently.
“Wow, your great-great grandmother?” She looked back at her drink and was glad to see most of it was still in the glass. She reminded herself to slow down.
“Yes, Madam. She lived to see her ninth great-great grandchild born when she was ninety-six years old.”
“Wow, that’s … that’s incredible, what a full life. God bless her. I should hope to be so lucky.”
She looked around then to see the smoke begin to dissipate. Patrons were either beginning to come to their senses and go home or had become hopelessly lost in the restrooms fumbling with buttons and zippers.
“Where are you from?” asked the stranger who pulled up a stool next to the beautiful woman who had at least three inches on him.
“The States. Massachusetts to be exact,” she replied.
“Ahh, you derelicts, throwing all that good tea into the harbor, starting all kinds of trouble.”
“Yeah, that’s us, troublemakers according to the history books. But well-behaved people rarely make a lasting impression, don’t you know?”
He laughed heartily in agreement as the bartender winked at him and served them each a glass of house wine. She was feeling good now, but deep down she knew she was just trying to numb the pain she knew she would feel all too soon. “So, your family has been here for a long time I’m guessing?”
“Yes, as long as France has been France; mostly farmers and tradesmen, some fishermen, too.” He laughed quietly, enjoying this rare moment of anonymity. He found it utterly refreshing to go unrecognized and couldn’t remember the last time he had had a conversation with a stranger that didn’t have to do with business. As Piper saw her dinner coming, she wished she could be alone so that she wouldn’t have to eat while being mindful of others. She was hungry and already had had too much to drink.
“I have a farm, too, back home. Horses for now, but my husband and I are trying to start a vineyard. That’s why we’re here … doing some research.”
“A vineyard; how very ambitious, my dear,” he replied, and hoped he didn’t sound arrogant.
“It’s my husband’s dream, I guess you could say. And since we don’t have children—” She couldn’t believe she had just blurted that out but given the double scotch and the three sips of the best red wine she’d ever tasted, she was even more surprised that she wasn’t sobbing and telling this man all her woes. “I mean, since we don’t have children yet, this is something we’d like to put our efforts into for now.” She noticed the man was tilting his head as she spoke.
He noticed her noticing him and said, “Sorry, Madam, but there’s something about you that is very familiar, but I cannot say what it is.”
“Really?” she asked and turned toward her dinner.
He looked at her apologetically and said, “Well, then, I will leave you to your dinner and I must say it was a true pleasure to have made your acquaintance.” She felt badly about having made it so obvious she wanted to be by herself.
“Oh, yes, thank you.”
She moved to stick out her hand but this time stopped herself.
“It was very nice talking with you, Mr. ….” She hated when she painted herself into a corner like that.
“Pecheur, Claude Pecheur.” He filled in the blank for her, then gently reached out to her hand on the bar top. He raised her hand in his. She was struck by the name and even as he gently kissed her hand and nodded his good-bye, Piper was aware that she was frozen in disbelief.
The man left without another word and for a moment she saw cobblestone streets and heard hooves as they struck the hard surface—a sound she always found exhilarating. Remembering how hungry she still was, she turned back to her waiting hen and rice, and looked up at the bartender as if for an explanation.
He smiled, eyebrows raised at her as if to say, “Yes, you heard correctly.”
She smiled back and wondered if she would have acted the same way had she known she was talking to one of the world’s most powerful men in the perfume industry. She shrugged her shoulders slightly and started eating the most delicious meal she could remember ever eating.
When the scotch began to wear off and the bones of the poor little hen sat naked on the plate with not so much as a bit of skin or grain of rice to keep it company, Piper felt that she had stayed away long enough. She reached for the euros she had hastily shoved into the pocket of her jeans earlier but the bartender stopped her.
“No Madam. Monsieur Pecheur owns this tavern and wishes only that you enjoyed your meal and the atmosphere tonight. There is no charge (my love).”
She sat up and tilted her head. Did he call me love? Or did I just imagine it? He looked somehow boyish and ducked his head as he turned away from her, rubbing his nose nervously.
She wanted to touch him.
Plain and simple, she wanted to touch him. Not in a sexual way, but in the way that she couldn’t resist touching a puppy or a newborn foal. She only wanted to feel his hand, his arm, his warm skin next to hers. There was something about him that was so familiar but she knew, too, that even though the alcohol was wearing off, she was very sensitive and emotional when she drank. She knew then that she ought to be heading back to Paul, to reality, to her life as she had left it a few hours before. Knowing that waking up the next morning was going to be unpleasant, she wanted just this one last indulgence. She stood up slowly from her seat and left twenty euros tucked under the plate for him.
Looking up to wish him a good night she was surprised to find he was gone and she realized that he must have gone back to the kitchen. She raised her eyebrows, tucked her hair behind her ears, and turned for the door. She immediately bumped into the young man she had just been looking for.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as her hand flew nervously to her throat.
“Pardon, Madam, I did not mean to startle you.”
She looked up into his shy blue eyes.
“That’s okay, I didn’t know you were there,” she said, feeling childish somehow.
I will always be here.
“I will see you to the door, Madam.”
He held out his arm to escort her. As she hooked hers through his, she was instantly flooded with pure love and light.
AS THE MONTHS PASSED and her belly swelled, Piper felt more and more content and settled into her life with Vander. With the harvest of wheat, squash, onions, garlic, and corn having been put up in the lofts and th
e surplus sold in the village of their youth, and with winter quickly approaching, they were finally able to spend more time together getting ready for the arrival of their first child. Piper calculated that they would officially be parents by the middle of April. Her father visited more often now, knowing that his daughter was happy and content and that Vander was the husband he had promised to be.
On one visit during late autumn, Piper’s father came to help Vander build a cradle for his first grandchild. As he stepped through the door for the first time in over a month, he looked at Piper with pure love and admiration. She looked at him sheepishly, but when she saw the expression on his face, she hurried into his open arms. She drew a deep breath and smelled the wood shavings that seemed to always be a part of her father.
“I missed you so much, Père. Next time you come here, please make sure Marek comes with you.”
He looked down at his only daughter and smiled. “I can’t believe you are going to be a mother soon. Your mother would …” His voice caught in his throat but then he continued. “A father couldn’t be more proud.” He looked at Vander and nodded his silent approval.
“Hello, Père,” Vander said and quickly came to shake his hand. Piper stepped back and looked at the two men her heart adored. She didn’t think she could feel safer or more loved than she did with her father and husband standing there in her house. She imagined the only thing better would be to have her mother and Marek here with them.
Her father spoke up. “How did your harvest look, Vander?”
“Very strong, and, God willing, next year will be as good.”
His father-in-law nodded. “Yes, God willing and only if.” He clapped Vander on the back. “Let’s get to work. Your child will need a place to sleep soon.” And with that they walked out toward the barn.
Piper, Once & Again Page 13
