1929 (68 page)

“I had a friend in Paris. She liked me and
she had a pretty name,” he offered.

“Oh, really, what was it?” Arianna asked,
pushing his hair back off his forehead, smoothing it into a neat
side-part.

“Savrene.” It rolled off his accented tongue
with an elegant flair. Caleb stopped at the doorway of the living
room and turned around.

“Say that again?”

“Savrene.”

“No, in English.”

“That is in English, silly. Suh-vreen.” She
enunciated without the French intonation, smiling at Jean. “And I
like it.” Caleb looked down at Little Girl.

“I like it, too.” He turned to Arianna,
eyebrows raised.

“Then it’s settled. Little Girl finally has a
name. Savrene,” she said pleasantly. Jean stood very close,
smiling. “Thank you for helping us name our baby,” she said,
hugging him to her side.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered, proud but
slightly embarrassed. Caleb disappeared upstairs and Jean stood
quiet for a moment. “If I ask you something, Aunt Ahna, will you
tell me the truth?” She put an arm around his shoulders.

“Of course, what is it?”

“Well, I have two questions.” His little face
was mixed with seriousness and fear. Arianna walked, holding his
hand, to the couch and sat him down beside her.

“Now, what are your questions?” She wrapped
her arm around him and he sunk into her side, leaning his head on
her soft, warm bosom and feeling maternal comfort for the first
time in months.

“Is my Dadee going to die?” he blurted out
without emotion, as if he were asking what was for dinner. “And if
he does, can I come live with you?” He looked up at her with wide
eyes, misty with the beginning of tears. Arianna gasped with
surprise.

“Sweetheart, what on earth makes you think
your Dadee is going to die? No, no, he isn’t. Don’t you worry about
that.” She rubbed his shoulder and he continued to stare at her,
waiting for her answers. “Jean.” She turned to face him more fully
and held his face between her hands. “Your Dadee is not going to
die. But if he did, yes, you could come live with me.” His face
relaxed, and he settled into her side again. “Why would you worry
about such things?” she asked, instantly feeling foolish. Of
course, he would worry about Jonathan dying. His mother just died
and Jonathan is all he has. Perfectly natural, she thought.

“My mother told me,” he started, swallowing
hard before going on, “that my Dadee had to leave Paris before I
was born. She said it was the only way his heart would be happy.
There was a man on the boat when we were traveling here, who died.
I heard someone say he had a bad heart. What if Dadee’s heart isn’t
happy anymore and goes bad?” Arianna was momentarily at a loss for
words.

“Jean, I don’t think your mother meant he had
a bad heart as if he were sick. I think she meant . . . .” Dammit,
Jon, what the hell am I supposed to say, she growled in her mind.
Caleb crossed the threshold into the living room and sank into the
comfortable chair by the fire.

“Hurry. They’re both asleep, we might be able
to get a ten minute nap,” he said, leaning his head back with
closed eyes. Arianna looked back at Jean.

“I think this is something you should talk to
your Dadee about,” she said in a whisper. “But I can tell you that
he is not sick, he does not have a bad heart, and there is no
reason to worry that he is going to leave you, all right?” She
stroked his hair as he nodded weakly.

“But if–” He looked up again with big,
pleading eyes.

“If so, yes, you can live with me, all
right?” she said softly and he snuggled back into her side, content
with her answer.

“Can I ride the pony tomorrow?” he asked
sometime later as his eyes started to close.

“Oui, vous pouvez monter le poney demain,”
she said, kissing the top of his head.

∞∞∞

“Okay.” Jonathan walked into the kitchen and
sat across from his father with his proposal. Ava stood behind him,
glancing from Margaret’s worried eyes to Jonathan Sr.’s bleak
expression. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Jonathan started,
leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “We’re going to
stay on here. Take over the bills–”

Jonathan Sr. threw his head back and opened
his mouth to protest, but was quickly muted by his son. “You’ll be
homeless and starving in a month, Dad, and you know it. If we were
to move out, we’d have to pay all the same bills. Why not pay them
here? Just until things get better.” His father shook his head,
feeling slightly disgraced and blew out a hard breath. “And here’s
what you’re going to do,” he continued, not letting his father get
in a single word of opposition. “You’re to use what you’ve got.
When you got rid of the new car I sent you and bought that old,
rusted piece of junk–”

“Hey! That old piece of junk runs just fine
now,” his father yelled indignantly. Jonathan smiled widely.

“Exactly. Did you know how to rebuild an
engine before you bought it?”

“No. I learned out of necessity.” He folded
his arms, wondering what Jonathan was getting at.

“Well, now you’re going to take what you
learned out of necessity and use it for profit. Marginal, at best,
but profit nonetheless.” He leaned back in his chair, mirroring his
father's posture, staring victoriously into uncertain eyes. “I’ll
talk to the guys Monday, but I don’t think it will be a problem.
I’ll replace the money over time, if it doesn’t work.”

“If what doesn’t work? Talk to them about
what?” The forlorn form had given way to a straightened posture and
a curious eye.

“I’m going to borrow some money from the
business savings. You,” he pronounced and pointed a finger at
Jonathan Sr., “are going to take it and find another jalopy like
the one out there. The worse condition and the cheaper the better.
Then you’re going to spend your days fixing it up. Save back some
of what I give you for parts. When it’s done, we’ll put the word
out and you can sell it. There are a whole lot of people right now
looking for cheap transportation. It’s a pattern I don’t see
changing anytime soon. And then,” He reached across his chest and
put his hand on Ava's resting on his shoulder, and squeezed it
lightly. He could almost feel her smiling behind him as he
continued. “you’re going to take that money and do it again. With
each sale, you can pay down the loan. It won’t make you rich, but
it’ll keep you busy, and it’ll bring a bit of money in.” He and his
father sat, eyes locked. Jonathan’s expression was satisfied and
slightly triumphant; his fathers’ was unreadable.

“Jon.” His mother turned to him with grateful
eyes. “That’s a wonderful idea.” She reached for his hand, and he
let go of Ava’s to accept it.

“I thought so.” He tilted his head, grinning
arrogantly.

“It is,” his father said quietly. “Good
thinking, son. Thank you. I should have been thinking along those
lines.”

“I’m sure you would have thought of it as
soon as the shock wore off,” he said graciously. Jonathan Sr.
rubbed his face hard, skin loose with finely aged wrinkles moved by
his fingers on the once handsome face, and he tiredly spoke through
his hands.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I might have ended up in a
bathtub, too, if–” He froze the moment he said it. Caught up in
relief, reveling in a sliver of hope when only a moment ago he had
been consumed by despair, he had let the words slip out. He dropped
his hands in his lap with a thud. “I’m sorry,” he pled to
Jonathan’s stunned expression. “I didn’t mean–”

“Forget it,” he ordered with hard eyes and a
clenched jaw. His father nodded and lowered his eyes. Margaret and
Ava exchanged puzzled expressions.

∞∞∞

“Do we have to leave tomorrow?” Claire asked
lazily as she stretched.

Aryl lifted his head from her stomach.
“Well.” He craned his neck to see their small crate of food across
the room. “If we ration, we might be able to make it a week,” he
said and grinned happily.

“I’ll starve,” she said, smiling and tangling
her fingers in his hair. “Let’s stay.”

“I wish we could.” He looked up at her,
folding his hands on her stomach and resting his chin on his
knuckles.

“Are you sure this is all right?” He gave an
admiring gaze at the bare breasts between their smiles. “I mean,
I’m perfectly content to do this for days on end. But I do wish I
could have done more for you.”

“It’s wonderful. Just as it is.” She looked
around the room. “Just being here again. Planning it all, it was
the perfect anniversary gift.” He smiled gratefully and turned his
head to the side, sliding one arm down to hug her hip. They lay
quiet, his head rose and fell with her breathing, listening as the
wind picked up and rain began tapping the windows of the lantern
room.

“You know,” she said, running her fingers
aimlessly around his scalp. “We won’t be able to do this after the
baby is born.”

“I know,” he whispered and raised his head
look at her. His eyes were dancing, but to Claire’s surprise, there
was no shock. Not the expression that normally strikes the faces of
men just told they were going to be fathers.

“How did you know?” she asked, slightly
deflated.

“My mother,” he said apologetically.

“But I hadn’t told her! I hadn’t told anyone.
I wanted you to be the first to know!” She was thoroughly
disappointed and angry that his mother, who took far too much
interest in the intimate side of their marriage to begin with, had
stolen her moment. She pushed his head off her stomach and sat up,
pouting.

“She didn’t know, she only suspected.” He
turned around to sit in front of her. “She’s been watching the
laundry.”

“Oh, my Lord!” Claire stared at him
open-mouthed.

He grinned apologetically. “She really wants
grandchildren. She talked to me yesterday about her suspicion and I
told her to keep quiet, so you could tell me.” He lifted her chin.
“And I was really hoping she was right,” he said and smiled, his
brown eyes were genuinely thrilled.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she whined
with tears in her eyes, pulling her chin away and dropping her
head.

“Well, it was . . . sort of.” He sat for
moment, thinking. “Here. Lay back down.”

“What?”

“Lay back down,” he said. “We’ll re-do
this.”

“We can’t redo it,” she said sadly.

He nudged her shoulders back down on the
feather tick. “Yes, we can.” He repositioned his head on her
stomach, lifting it and laying it back down several times to get it
just right. “There. No, wait.” He moved his arm to hug her hip.
“There.” He looked back up at her briefly. “You had your hands on
my head,” he reminded and rested his head back down. She plopped
her hands on his head lethargically.

“Okay,” he said, satisfied. She lay staring
at the ceiling, growing angrier at his mother with every minute.
She would do something about this–teach her a lesson. She rolled
several possibilities around in her head. She was lost in her ideas
of retribution when Aryl cleared his throat as a cue. He lifted his
head again. “Here’s where you tell me,” he whispered and quickly
dropped his head. She smiled down at him for his effort.

“Aryl, we’re having a baby,” she said
monotone and sarcastic.

He threw his head up with eyes nearly popping
out of their sockets. “What?” he asked and stared at her with a
ridiculous expression that made her laugh. “I . . . just . . .
never saw this coming! I mean, how? Okay, well, I know how, but
when? When will it be here? What will we name it?” He rolled onto
his back and put his hands on his head. “There’s so much to do. We
have to get to work. No, you rest, I’ll work.” He flipped to his
side and felt her head, patting all over her face and neck. “How
are you feeling? Are you sick? Hungry? You’re not in pain, are
you?”

She was giggling hysterically now, and just
as he launched into another outburst, she put her hand over his
mouth.

“Aryl, stop.” He froze, watching her flat
expression as it melted into a smile. “Thank you. That was very
entertaining. And sweet.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t happen the way you
wanted it to,” he said. She looked around the room, recounting at
lightning speed the whirlwind her life had been since the first
time they were here.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “But your
mother!” She laughed a low, evil laugh. “I’m going to find a way to
get her back for this.”

∞∞∞

“The wind is really picking up,” Jonathan
said casually, glancing at the window over the sink. Jonathan Sr.
had excused himself to bed and Margaret followed, leaving Ava and
Jonathan at the table.

“It is. Think we’ll lose the lights?” She
picked at the tablecloth and felt the sudden apprehension in the
air. Jonathan shrugged and stared into the doorway of the dark
living room.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it to the movie
house.”

“I guess we shouldn’t spend any money anyway,
under the new circumstances.” She sighed in resignation.

He leaned his head back, speaking into the
air. “I’m sorry. Just when things were starting to look up.”

“What did he mean, Jonathan?” He tensed,
crossed his arms, and took a deep breath.

“He’s just upset, in shock, talking
nonsense.” He wouldn’t look at her but felt her eyes boring into
him. He prayed silently she would let it pass. A month ago, he was
prepared to tell her everything, if he had to–if it meant her
emerging from behind her brick wall. But now, for reasons he didn’t
understand, he wanted to bury it back down, forget about it. He
didn’t want to explain himself, especially during what should have
been a relaxing and romantic weekend.

“If he was talking nonsense, why did he
apologize to you? The look on his face, he knew he messed up, and
his apology was directed at you. Ending up in a bathtub?” She
looked at him confused. “Why would he be sorry to you for saying
that?” His eyes focused on the rose print of the tablecloth.