Page 38 of Meet Me in the Garden

Al shakes his head and Claire stops protesting.

“Ham?” Adele asks. “Or peanut butter and jelly?”

“Ham,” Nathalie says, finding the sliding door and using all her strength to open it.

Bernard’s out back, smoking a cigarette in a lawn chair. He blinks, rises as we go toward him, gazes in amazement.

“Who are you?” Nathalie asks.

“This is Uncle Bernard,” I say. “Bernard, we’re hanging Nathalie’s laundry.”

“Now?”

“It’s a dry night,” I say. “A warm one. It’ll be fine. Would you like to help us?”

He nods and heads to the line. Nathalie takes garment after garment from her sack and hands them to us. We fix them to the line with clothespins and soon Delphine’s dresses and undergarments and Nathalie’s shirts and skirts and pajamas and underpants hang, neatly spaced, in a row.

Bernard leads her to the table for her sandwich, and I go to the den and shut the door. I call Camarillo and the police station to let them know that I’ve found her, that she’s safe here. I call Auntie Bertha. She doesn’t want to come be with Nathalie or know anything about her. “Then phone the hospital in the morning,” I say, vision blurring with fury. “Make me Delphine’s primary contact and I’ll handle everything.” She agrees. After, I find my sisters sitting on either side of Nathalie, watching her take bites. Nathalie sets the sandwich down and drinks a sip of milk so cold water beads to the outside of the glass. She picks the sandwich up again and eats. When she’s finished she asks for the bathroom, and Adele and Claire both walk her to the hallway. She shuts the door and Claire whispers, “Should we bathe her tonight? She’s filthy.”

“We’d better wait until the morning,” Adele says. “She looks exhausted.”

“We could give her the choice,” I say from behind them.

“No,” Claire says. “Adele’s right. Let’s let her sleep. She’ll need a good wash, a lot of conditioning and brushing of that hair.”

My stomach twists but it’s all right, it’s all right. They know best when it comes to the children.

When Nathalie comes out of the bathroom, Claire crouches so she’s eye level with her. “We’re so happy you’ve come to stay with us,” she says.

Nathalie stares back, says nothing.

“We’ll show you your bed now,” Adele says. “You can borrow a pair of pajamas. Good thing your twin cousins are still small enough that they share a bunk. You’ll have the whole top one to yourself.”

I see a twitch in Nathalie’s little jaw, as though she’s doubting her decision to come here. She stands very still, her shoulders tight and raised, before sighing and following them in.

It’s ten o’clock now and I’m wide awake. Bernard and Claire leave and Al pours himself another whiskey. Adele flips through the records. She takes one out, slips it from its jacket, pauses at the sound of the children’s room door opening. We hear a set of footsteps down the hall. It’s Nathalie. Skinny body swimming in Clément’s plaid pajamas. Opening the hall closet and standing there, head tipped upward, scanning the high shelves, picking up a box of Arm and Hammer and setting it back down again, crouching to see the linens folded on the lower shelves. She closes the closet door, heads to the next place. My room.

“Did we forget to show her around?” Al says.

“It didn’t cross my mind,” Adele murmurs.

I go to the hallway, watch her from a distance as she opens each one of my drawers, runs her hand along my bedspread, pushes back my dresses to see the shoes lined up on my closet floor. Her brown hair falls into her eyes. There’s a scab on her elbow and on one of her ankles. She walks straight past me to the living room. At the credenza, she flips through therecords and slides open the cabinet door. She picks up a pack of playing cards and fixes us with her big green eyes. “I want to play Go Fish.”

“It’s bedtime,” Adele says, hiding a smile. “We can play Go Fish tomorrow. Your cousins love to play it. They’ll be glad to play with you.”

Nathalie’s brow furrows. Just like Delphine’s.

“Here,” I say, offering her my hand. “I’ll lie with you for a little while. It’s hard to sleep the first night in a new place.”

She looks from me to Adele to Al as though assessing her options. Reluctantly, she sets the cards down. She puts her hand in mine, small and squeezing back. I lead her to the children’s room, climb into Titter’s bunk with her. The covers pulled up to our chins, I whisper, “Is there anything you like to do at bedtime? Does your mommy sing you a song?”

“She sings the song about the moon room.”

“I don’t know that one. Can you sing it for me?”

She shakes her head. “It’s always changing. She makes it up.”

“Oh, I see. Well, what is the moon room?”