by Alix Nichols
She looks up, smiling. “Seems easy enough.”
“Try it.”
Uma grabs the ball, splaying her fingers like I showed her.
“Good,” I say. “Now point your left shoulder toward the goal. Right leg and hip back. Raise your arm and pull it back a little, cradle the ball—arm rigid—and throw.”
As I speak, I show her what to do, and she mimics my motions. When she’s ready, she shoots. The ball hits the deck a few meters short of Sam’s goal.
She rolls her eye. “That was pathetic.”
“First shots always are.” I pat her delicate shoulder before glancing at my watch. “Sam can coach you a bit more in our garden this afternoon if you’d like.”
“Will you, Sam?” She gives him a pleading look.
He beams before schooling his features into a sober expression. “OK.”
I point to the pool. “Now, Samuel, why don’t we get back in there for some eggbeater practice before we leave.”
“Yay!” Sam runs toward the edge of the deck and jumps into the water.
I follow him.
“What’s eggbeater?” Uma asks, returning to the pool.
“A water treading technique to stay upright and have your hands free.”
She blinks. “Is that possible?”
“Of course,” I grin. “How else do you think we can play a ball game in a pool when we aren’t allowed to touch the floor?”
“Oh.”
“Watch me!” Sam shouts to her. “I turn my feet out, like a duck, big toe to shin. Left, right. Left, right.”
She widens her eyes. “Wow.”
“Knees wider,” I instruct Sam. “You can’t jump out of the water with tight knees. Faster legs. Stretch them out more. You want to pull as much water as you can.”
He tries harder, putting all he’s got into his practice. I observe and comment. Uma grabs the rail and tries to imitate what Sam is doing.
“How’s this?” Sam cries out, panting. “Am I doing good?”
I open my mouth to say he’s doing great when he begins to blink rapidly. Then his body starts to convulse.
Lunging at him, I pull him out of the water as fast as I can and lay him down on his right side, sticking my hand under his head.
Uma runs up to us, a look of panic on her face.
“It’s OK.” I stroke Sam’s pale cheek, not quite sure if my words are for Uma, Sam, or myself.
Probably all three of us.
Sam will come to in a couple of minutes, feeling tired and a little dazed after his seizure. Then I’ll take him home.
The party’s over.
FOUR
Uma
“Watching cartoons is one of my rights,” Sam declares, jutting his chin up.
It used to be “May I watch a cartoon, please?” But Sam returned indoctrinated from his visit to his lawyer grandparents two weeks ago. His new tack for getting more TV time is rights-based. Luckily, he hasn’t tried it regarding forbidden foods—guess he hates having seizures too much to be tempted.
The last one he had in the swimming pool didn’t last long. According to Zach, it was nothing compared to the violent seizures he’d suffered weekly before starting on the new medicine and diet. Still, it scared me, making me realize how fragile the little fellow is. I did know about his epilepsy when I signed up, and both Zach and Mathilde had explained multiple times what to do in case of a seizure. But not having seen it happen, the seriousness of his condition had remained theoretical.
It’s a lot more real now.
The funny thing is, I’m also relieved I finally saw it and watched Zach handle the situation with total calm. Now I’m confident I won’t panic if Sam has another seizure when Zach is not around.
“May I please watch another one?” Sam asks, interpreting my delayed response as a no, and reverting to his old strategy.
“OK,” I say. “But just one more. After that, it’s snack time, and then you can look at your books until your playdate arrives.”
“Will you read for me?”
I smile. “I’ll read after your play date, OK? I’m having a video call with Marguerite soon.”
“Your fairy godmother?”
“That’s right.”
Sam nods and turns toward the television set.
My phone rings from the opposite end of the room just as Sam presses Play on the TV remote. I rush to answer the call.
Marguerite smiles from my screen and studies my face. “You look nice.”
“You, too,” I say.
She waves dismissively and points to her hair. “I need a new haircut. And my white roots are showing.”
“No, they’re not,” I say, peering.
Truly, they aren’t.
She sighs. “Enough about that. Have you talked to your parents lately?”
“Last week. They send their regards.”
“Oh, good.” She smiles. “So, they’ve forgiven me for sending you off to Paris.”
“They weren’t really cross with you to start with. Regardless of how much they want me to marry Giriraj, they do realize what an amazing opportunity you offered me. And they appreciate it.”
“Hmm.” She studies her nails. “I doubt they really appreciate your going to Paris, but at least we were able to convince them to let you take the course at Lesage. Are you getting excited? It starts in just three weeks.”
“I can’t wait!”
“Tell me…” she pauses, hesitating. “This Brahmin suitor of yours, Giriraj… You haven’t promised him anything, have you?”
I shake my head. “We haven’t even spoken to each other. He sent his parents to talk to my parents. You know how it’s done in Nepal.”
She tilts her head to the side. “I do. All right, let me rephrase the question. Did your parents promise anything to his parents?”
I can’t help a smirk. “No, Marguerite, they didn’t.”
“I’m that transparent, huh?”
“You?” I widen my eyes theatrically. “Never.”
She smiles. “I do know what an honor it is for your family to be approached by a Brahmin. And that it reflects well on you, of course. It’s just… you and Noah would make such an amazing couple!”
I stare down at my feet.
“He’s crazy about you,” she adds.
It’s not the first time she says this, but it’s the first time I’m not going to pretend I didn’t hear her. “How do you know that?”
“A mother’s instinct.” She studies my unconvinced expression. “Besides, he has told me as much.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.”
She peers into my eyes, a little too intensely. I have no reason to doubt her words, and yet… “Why hasn’t he ever said anything to me?”
“He’s planning to, trust me. He just needs to work up the courage.”
We change the topic and discuss her current fundraising campaign to build a school for deaf children. I admire what she does so much I used to listen to Marguerite talk about her projects for hours on end, my hands busy embroidering. But I have a kid in my charge now—and I just heard the end credits music to his cartoon.
I wrap up with Marguerite and go over to stand between Sam and the screen.
“Uma, I can’t see anything,” he complains.
“That was my goal.”
He pouts.
I grab the remote and turn off the TV.
Slouching, Sam drags his feet to the bookshelf and pulls out two of his beautifully illustrated books.
“Since my video talk is over, I can read for you,” I offer.
His back straightens, and his eyes light up. “Yay!”
We sit down on the thick carpet and open the first book when I hear the key turn in the door.
Zach’s back from his meeting earlier than expected.
“We couldn’t agree on either the price list or timeframes, so there was no point dallying,” he explains, sitting down on the floor next to us. “I’ll need to find another supplier for those
vitamins.”
Zach runs an Internet-based food supplement business, which gives him a good profit margin and lets him work from home most of the time.
He gives Sam a playful nudge. Sam tries to do the same to Zach, undeterred by the obvious hopelessness of his endeavor. While the boy’s attention is focused on his own Mission Impossible, Zach gives me a questioning look, the same one he gives every time he comes home after a few hours away.
I shake my head discreetly and smile. All is well, no seizures.
His face relaxes.
“Did the playdate get canceled?” he asks.
I glance at my watch. “Evan will be here in an hour.”
“Ah, good.” He looks at Sam whose face has reddened with effort and lets the boy shift him a little.
Sam throws his fists in the air. “Yes!”
“And what about you?” Zach asks me. “Did you have your weekly chat with Marguerite?”
I nod.
“I have the impression she calls you more often than she calls Noah,” he says with a smile.
I shrug. “Marguerite and I are very close. But it doesn’t mean she misses me more than she misses her son. She adores him.”
“I figured that much.” He gives me a funny look. “Noah deserves every bit of her love. He’s a great guy.”
“Yes, he is,” I say, suddenly uncomfortable.
Funny how the only times I’m not at ease around Zach are when we talk about Noah or Sophie. Or when he mentions his ex, Colette.
Zach beams as if he just remembered something good. “My club is invited to Provence next weekend to play a scrimmage match against the club from Avignon.”
“I can look after—”
He interrupts me. “I recall you wanted to see the lavender fields in bloom.”
“It’s been my dream for years!” I frown, reining in my enthusiasm. “But how—”
“Well, now is your last chance this year, because the lavender harvest is in a week or so.”
“But how—”
“I have a plan.” He winks at me before turning to Sam. “Just give me a sec to do this.”
Zach scoops the boy up and stands him on his head.
Sam giggles and leans on his hands and works to align his legs and torso into a straight line.
“Avignon is next door to Arles,” Zach says, propping Sam. “We’ll take the TGV train on Friday afternoon. I’ll drop you off at my parents’ place in Arles, rent a car, and go to Avignon for the match. Saturday evening, I’ll drive back to Arles, and on Sunday, we’ll do a stretch of the Lavender Route while Sam is chilling in his grandparents’ pool.”
A host of questions swarm in my head.
What is he implying by “we”? Him and me? Noah, him, and me? Since they’re on the same team, Noah must be going to Avignon, too. What about the tall and gorgeous Sophie whom Zach plans to date? Surely, he’ll invite her to come along.
But he just said he would drive back to Arles on Saturday. In singular.
My pulse ratchets up.
“Woohoo!” Sam yells as Zach helps him back onto his feet. “I love staying with Grandpa and Grandma!”
“Of course, you do.” Zach arches an eyebrow. “They have a pool, and they let you watch cartoons for as long as you want.”
“Are they free to look after him next weekend?” I ask.
Zach nods. “They are. And they look forward to meeting you.”
I force a smile, feeling thrilled, confused, scared, overjoyed, and a bunch of other things I don’t even know how to describe. Nor do I know how to fight the urge to give this wonderful man a big, tight hug. And possibly a kiss.
So, I mutter, “Thank you so much! I’ll be back.”
And I rush to my room.
FIVE
Zach
“What on earth is this?” Uma points at the recumbent trikes I’m about to rent.
“Tricycles,” I say.
She narrows her eyes. “For grown-ups?”
“As you can see.”
“They’re… weird.”
“It’s because you ride them in a reclining position.”
She studies the contraptions for a few seconds and turns back to me, a question in her eyes.
“Yes,” I say. “We’re going to ride them from here to the Sénanque Abbey and back. It’s an easy trip.”
We’re in Gordes right now—the first stop on our lavender tour.
Uma and I got here at around nine thirty, parked the car, and spent an hour wandering the spiraling streets of the village. Gordes is as winsome as I remembered with its gray-white houses and a medieval castle that looks like something out of Tristan and Isolde.
The scent of lavender is everywhere.
It comes from flower beds and window pots, blending with the minty smells of the scrubland we call garrigue in the South. Throw in the heat coming off white stone walls and the fragrances of strong coffee and fresh croissants wafting out from cafés and bakeries, and you get that unique bouquet of a summer morning in Provence.
The smell of my childhood.
One of the reasons I want to take Uma to the abbey is because, so far, we haven’t seen any lavender fields. Plenty of beautiful vineyards and olive tree plantations, but that’s not what Uma has been dreaming about. If memory serves me right, Sénanque is surrounded by purplish-blue fields, which spread out right from its doors.
She’ll love it.
Uma swallows nervously. “You know I never learned to ride a bike, right?”
“Which is exactly why I’m renting trikes.” I grin. “Believe me, they’re very comfortable and so easy to ride you don’t need any previous experience. There’s no need to balance.”
“Have you done this before?”
“Yes, and it was great fun.”
She chews on her lip, still hesitant.
“OK,” I say. “Why don’t you get on one and ride around here a few minutes? If you hate it, we’ll drive or walk to the abbey. It won’t take more than an hour on foot.”
She sighs in relief. “Deal.”
I help Uma onto the trike.
It’s a low-sitting model, and a newbie might have a hard time descending especially if her leg muscles aren’t strong enough. Besides, the trike might do something silly like roll away from under her. And—
Who are you kidding, man?
She can manage this on her own just fine. All I need to do is to suggest that she squeeze the hand brakes the moment she sits down.
But instead, I seize the chance to hold her hands.
My so-called “helping” Uma is not gentlemanlike. Quite the contrary. It’s one of those cheap, awkward, and opportunistic moves I haven’t tried since college.
“So, is Sénanque a functioning abbey?” she asks, lowering herself into the seat.
Now that we’ve been to the pool together and I’ve feasted my eyes on her shape, the temptation to acquaint my hands with her is so strong I’ve been dreaming about it at night. In addition to the daydreams.
I crouch and slip my hands under her arms.
Presumably, to make sure she doesn’t plop down and hurt herself.
“Very much so,” I say. “It’s home to a Catholic order. The monks make amazing lavender honey in addition to their religious activities. They also host spiritual retreats should you ever need one.”
“I’m a Hindu.” She looks up at me and smiles.
I roll my eyes skyward. “I’m an idiot.”
“Absolutely not.” Uma shifts in the seat and sets her feet on the pedals. “Catholic or not, I find the idea of retreating into the peace and quiet of a lavender-growing abbey very appealing.”
“Find the hand brakes on the front wheels,” I say, “and squeeze them.”
“Like this?”
“Yes. That’s what you’ll do to brake, OK? Don’t try to stop the bike by lifting the rear wheel just because it seems like a cool thing to do.”
Her lips twitch. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I
t’s just so you don’t get ejected from your seat,” I explain.
“Personal experience?”
“Yeah… So, learn from my mistakes.”
She nods. “Now what?”
Now you ride.
Except I’m still holding her.
With a sigh of regret escaping me, I take my hands off her. “Mash the pedals.”
She does—and takes off.
Five minutes later, we’re on our way to Sénanque, our unusual conveyances attracting amused glances from hikers.
“Yahoo!” Uma beams at me. “I’m loving this!”
I’m loving that you’re loving it.
I point to her happy face. “You know what they call that expression?”
“What?”
“Recumbent grin. That’s what riding a recumbent bike does to people.”
“Is it permanent?” She screws up her features in fake concern.
“Wait and see.”
The abbey comes into view and we both gasp. The sober, light gray building sits between green hills on its left and right and a field of blue gold in front of it. The combination of colors, shapes, and smells is glorious beyond words.
Uma pulls over, gets off her trike, and sits cross-legged on the grass. I follow suit. When she turns to me five minutes later, her eyes are glistening.
She blinks and smiles. “This is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”
I nod and turn away to gaze at the building. Not because I can’t get enough of it, but because if I continue looking at Uma, I’ll take her sweet face between my hands and kiss her.
I mustn’t.
For her sake, for Sam’s sake, for the sake of my friendship with Noah. It’s bad enough to grope her under false pretenses, but if I go ahead and kiss her, my inappropriate lust will be out in the open. And that would ruin everything.
When Uma and I finally get down to the abbey, we discover it’s closed to visitors on Sunday mornings.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Uma. “I should’ve checked.”
She pats my arm. “Don’t be silly! We’re here to admire the fields, not the cloister. What’s our next stop?”
The next stop is Sault.
We return our trikes and drive to the fortified village that offers one the best views in Provence—magnificent carpets of blue lavender alternating with stretches of golden wheat as far as the eye can see.
