WINTER WONDERLAND (27 page)

I am about to cut to the chase and give him the address of my auberge when he blurts, ‘My wife left me because I couldn’t provide her with a child.’

My mouth falls open.

He looks a little dazed himself. ‘You’re only the second person I’ve ever told that to.’

Still I can’t seem to find the words but I don’t want to leave him hanging. ‘I-I only told one person … ’ I begin. ‘Until now.’ I look back at him. ‘Do I have to say it out loud? Like at an AA meeting?’

He smiles fondly. ‘Only if you want to.’

I take a deep breath. ‘My name is Krista and I can’t have children.’

‘I had a feeling.’ His eyes brim with empathy. ‘Your reaction with the puppies, and then today. But I wasn’t sure.’

I sigh. ‘The day with the puppies was the day I found out that my ex-husband had got a nineteen-year-old sandwich delivery girl pregnant.’

‘Oh no!’ he groans.

‘Yes,’ I sigh. ‘These young women are so very fertile.’ And then I venture: ‘What about you – do you know if your wife … ’

He shakes his head. ‘We don’t have any contact. She moved to Vancouver for her job. That was our official line – her work took her there and obviously I couldn’t leave the dogs … ’

‘Pulled in different directions … ’

He nods.

I wonder for a moment if he’s going to say any more on the subject and I’m glad when he continues:

‘We’d been trying for three years before we got everything checked out. We didn’t believe the doctors at first, you always hope to prove them wrong. But month after month after month … ’ He tuts. ‘There came a point where I actually gave her an out. I didn’t want her deprived of being a mother because of me. I mean, you want your wife to have everything to make her happy.’

‘And what did she say to that?’

‘At first she said we were in this thing together. That she couldn’t even think about giving up on us because of this. But now I think she was just trying to make me feel better in that moment.’ He picks at the armrest. ‘After that I would see this look on her face and I knew she was considering, you know, other options … ’

‘It’s a big thing to take away from somebody,’ I acknowledge. ‘I think Andrew felt I’d somehow negated the contract of our marriage. We’d talked about having kids from the start and I remember him saying, “I didn’t know this about you when I married you.” Of course neither did I, but I think he felt duped. You know, false bill of goods.’ I pull my scarf away from my neck. ‘I don’t think he even felt that bad about leaving. He never really said he was sorry. In his mind it was as if I just didn’t want it that much any more. But I did … ’ A tear bounces off my cheek.

Jacques reaches across to the glove compartment and hands me a tissue.

‘Thank you,’ I sniff. ‘I keep thinking I’ve made peace with it but out of nowhere—’ I motion to my eyes.

‘I know. It hits you hard sometimes.’ He twists his torso around to face me. ‘I try to think what I would have done, if the situation had been reversed … ’

‘And?’

‘I would’ve been happy to adopt. But then that’s what I’m used to with all the dogs; I couldn’t love them any more than I do.’

I smile.

‘And I have this great friend, Magalie, who was adopted from Haiti by a local family. And she’s probably the nicest, sunniest, most accomplished person I know.’

‘My best friend at school was adopted,’ I tell him. ‘Same thing – happiest, most well-rounded, easy-breezy person.’

‘Maybe it’s because they are so wanted, so loved – their parents had to work so hard to get them.’

‘I think you’re right. Do you know Tony Robbins – the motivational guy? I heard him telling this story about Steve Jobs of Apple and how he was adopted and he was fixing on the fact that his blood parents had given him up and Tony Robbins said, “But your new parents chose you.” And that’s what he went with –
he was chosen
. And what a life he had!’

‘But your husband didn’t want to try that?’

I shake my head. ‘He wanted his DNA. His flesh and blood. He didn’t think he could have the same attachment to another man’s child. Besides, once we knew for sure that I couldn’t, he looked at me differently, I could feel the change. I wasn’t the future mother of his children any more. I wasn’t this magic being who was going to bring more of him into the world. I was just me.’ I gulp. ‘And it wasn’t enough.’

Jacques reaches for my hand.

‘It’s hard to feel confident and desirable when you know how much you are disappointing someone.’ I swallow hard. ‘And the words they use … ’

‘Infertile!’ He cringes.

‘I mean!’ I roll my eyes. ‘Fertile is a pretty yukky word to start with, and infertile is even worse.’

‘Or sterile. That’s sexy!’

I laugh out loud. ‘I know! It sounds like we’ve been scrubbing out our reproductive organs with bleach!’

Now he’s grinning.

‘Barren!’ I add in a dramatic baritone.

‘Unproductive,’ he responds. ‘Like we’re a pair of slackers!’

We sit with the humour until gradually my smile fades.

‘You just wonder,’ I begin, ‘how you make it up in other ways – I feel I should be doing something remarkable or revolutionary to balance things out.’

‘For not contributing to the population?’

‘It just seems that people with children
know
they did something meaningful with their life. I don’t think there’s anything else quite so definitive. Everything seems so blurry to me.’

‘I think mums and dads can still search for meaning too. I know my dad is looking for more. Beyond us boys.’

‘You’re right,’ I concede. ‘I always seem to torment myself with sweeping generalisations. Every parent has their own experience. Sometimes I just get so frustrated that I didn’t even get to try it. Not that it’s something you get to try and then decide if you like it.’ I roll my eyes.

‘Accepting your circumstance is the hardest thing.’ Jacques acknowledges. ‘That’s what I learned when Rémy died. I couldn’t accept it. I wouldn’t! I was protesting all the way. Willing it to be different.’

‘I can’t imagine that kind of pain.’

I don’t quite have the nerve to take his hand but I do touch his elbow, to show that I care.

‘Sometimes you just want your life to have turned out differently. But wishing for something that can’t be, that’s a wasted wish.’

I blink at him. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

And then his phone bleeps a text.

Perhaps it’s the fact that we’re in a hospital car park but I find myself gasping, ‘Is everything all right?’

‘It’s just the farm, wanting to know if I’ll be back in time for the sunrise ride.’

As he taps his reply. I take a deep breath in and then try to exhale slowly, happy to have settled down somewhat. So much so, in fact, that I find myself yawning.

‘We should get you back to your hotel,’ he decides. ‘You’ve had a very long day.’

‘I can’t believe I was in Montreal this morning!’

And with that, all the heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul, sterile-to-sterile talk is over.

We chat more about his dad and we’re just getting onto his Cree mum when we pull up to a snowy bank beside my little
rue
.

Time to part.

‘Well,’ I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. ‘Thanks so much for the lift, and congratulations again on the new addition to your family!’

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ He beams. ‘I can’t wait to see if he has any of Rémy’s traits.’

‘What did you like most about him?’ I’m suddenly curious. And not quite ready to say goodnight.

Jacques thinks for a moment and then says, ‘His energy – he was always game for anything, always ready to go. And he really stood up for what he believed in.’ He smiles. ‘He was a good friend to me.’

I don’t quite know what to say now, so I go to open the door, without much success.

‘Here, let me get that, it sticks sometimes.’

I think he might lean over me again, but instead he gets out of the car and walks around to my side.

‘Thank you,’ I say as he helps me out.

‘And don’t forget your bag … ’ He reaches into the back seat, grabbing it with one hand and then offering me his free arm. ‘I’ll see you to the door.’

‘All right,’ I say as I contemplate the slippery path. ‘But I apologise in advance if I take you down with me!’

‘Don’t worry.’ He pulls me closer. ‘I’ve got you.’

My heart heaves happily. I really don’t want to say goodnight. I don’t want him to go. But he has a sunrise ride and it’s not so very far off daylight now.

‘Do you have your key?’

He unlocks the door at the top of the steep front steps and then switches places with me. I love how gallant he’s being, the only snag is that now I’m towering above him – for me to lean down for a hug would surely unbalance us both and I don’t want him falling back and cracking his head and ending up at the hospital for real.

‘Goodnight then,’ I say.

He reaches for my hand and kisses it softly, then rests it for a moment upon his cheek. ‘Goodnight Krista.’

As the door closes between us, I merely step to the side and lean against the wall, not wanting to disturb the feeling I just experienced. I can hear a voice in my head say, ‘I love him! I love that guy!’

And I don’t necessarily mean ‘in love’ because of course it’s too soon for anything except infatuation, but there’s something about him that just slays me. And comforts me. And warms me. And intrigues me. And makes me yearn for the next time we will meet …

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I don’t hear from Jacques at all the next day.

It’s actually the first day since we met that we haven’t had some contact and I’m all too aware of his absense. Especially after feeling so close last night …

I awoke late this morning, still a little shaken from all the emotion of the day before. Breakfast was already over so I headed to a diner called Buffet de L’Antiquaire, on account of it being in the antique district of Lower Town. It’s one of those places where you can see your eggs and bacon sizzling on the giant oven plate in front of you. I like that. And I liked that it wasn’t too fancy because I wasn’t feeling too fancy myself. I can’t quite stave off the notion that I’m back to being just me again. Is it done? I wonder. Is the cycle of Jacques complete? Or is he simply regretting revealing something so personal last night?

I drain the chunky white coffee mug and prepare to pay the bill. I really have no business feeling so sad. Maybe I’m just lonesome after yesterday’s social whirl – adding Mr Dufour, Julie and all those Cirque du Soleilers to my list of encounters – and having no one to meet up with today. Annique and Gilles think I’m still in Montreal and I didn’t want to encroach on their free day. Besides. I have plenty to do. This is my ideal chance to mooch around the shopping area of Petit Champlain entirely at my own pace.

This really is Christmas Card perfect – as designed by Beatrix Potter after a field trip to Europe. There’s even a bunny-motif bistro. (Albeit named Le Lapin Sauté, translating as ‘the sautéed rabbit’.) I opt instead for Le Cochon Dingue (the foolish pig!) and a bowl of hot chocolate to revive me after several hours ‘window-licking’ at the upmarket galleries, jewellers and, most significantly, La Fudgerie-Boutique.

While sitting and sipping I read more about the One Drop Foundation that Sebastien told me about. This is the first I’ve heard of World Water Day (held every March) and the concept of ‘eating less water’ – apparently it takes between 2,000–5,000 gallons of water to produce the food one person eats in one day! And ten gallons to produce one sheet of paper. Must start writing smaller in my notebooks.

And then I find myself gazing out of the window, looking over at the ferry port, which only serves to twang me again. It’s amazing how, in such a short space of time, everywhere here is loaded with memories. The Auberge Saint-Antoine is just around the corner. How different things were then. How lucky I am to have been able to get to know Jacques in the interim. And yet it’s always a mixed blessing liking someone that much. Thinking about him makes me feel a little nervous. Something happened in the car between us last night, and on the auberge doorstep, and I feel like I can’t do without that connection now. And that’s when I always mess things up – when I realise I have a need for someone. I’m surprised I even want to put myself out there again after Andrew. But I do. I don’t think Jacques would ever hurt me, not intentionally. But things are still ambiguous between us. It certainly meant a lot to hear from his father that I have brightened his spirits. But in a way beyond friendship and empathy? I still can’t tell.