Page 53 of Meet Me in the Garden

“Just for a bit longer.”

“I’ll go have a little time with them, then.”

Bobby and Titter spot him first, then Clément and Rudy tackle him to the ground. The twins join in crawling all over him. “Save me!” he cries. Only Nathalie, intent on the card game, can’t be bothered. Adele watches the spectacle with a hand on her hip.

“What perfect timing,” she says. “Get them all worked up right before bed.”

“Hush,” I say. “He’ll come around even less if you’re hard on him.”

Adele and I wash the children’s faces and inspect their teeth. We tuck them in and sing them lullabies, but they’re too riled up. An hour passes, we keep trying. Finally, I come up with the idea to separate them.

“Nathalie, Clément. Come with me.” I take a few books from the shelf, lead them to my room. “You’ll sleep in here tonight.” Nathalie climbs up onto the bed. Clément climbs in next to her. I tuck them in, side by side. Kiss each of them on the forehead. “How about I read you one story, and then you both go right to sleep. Auntie Adele got some brand-new books yesterday. Should we pick one to read?”

They nod, eager.

“What’s this one called?” Clément asks.

“Little Fur Family.”

Nathalie holds up another. “What’s this one?”

“Goodnight Moon.”

There’s a flash of movement in the alley outside my window. I go to see, lift the gauze curtain to peer through. It’s only Al, bending over the pile of firewood, gathering a couple logs. I drop the curtain but before it falls completely Felix is there, too, and through the translucent fabric I see Al rise and turn.

“Need help with that?” Felix asks. The window’s lifted a couple inches, his voice is clear as anything.

“I got it,” Al says. They both wait there, unmoving, and then Felix’s hand is at the back of Al’s head, pulling him close to kiss his mouth—unmistakable, this gesture, even though I can’t make sense of it. Al jerks back, says something low. They stand together, silent, and tension thrums through my own body as though I’m standing between them. Al turns to go and now it’s just Felix, leaning against the side of the house, closing his eyes, and I leave the window, step as quietly as I can to the bed. My heart is wild, I cover my chest with my hand, breathe deep to calm it, and the children are declaringGoodnight Moonthe winner, and I know that Felix can hear them, wonder if he’s struck with fear by the sound of us.

No movement through the window. He’s right there, still leaning against the wall. I should be angry for my sister but all I feel is sorrow for him, and a recalibration, a new understanding of how we are with each other, how we can be comfortably alone together, how we’ve talked for hours with no misinterpretation.

“I’m ready for the story,” Nathalie says.

They sit on either side of me, Clément resting his head against my arm, Nathalie twisting the hem of my shirt. I open the book to an illustration of a bedroom with green walls and a bunny tucked in for sleep. I turn the pages, read the simple sentences.

There’s something in it—the occasional rhymes; the strange pictures of bunnies where the people should be; the dollhouse, glowing as though a light were on inside; the perfect nighttime sky with its moon and stars—that takes me away from Felix and Al and what I’ve just discovered.

I finish, and Nathalie says, “Again,” so I read it another time through, and I wish to read it for a third and a fourth time, but the children are tired.

“Stay with us,” Clément says.

“All right,” I say. “For a little while.”

I turn off the bedside light, pull the blankets up to their chins, and Felix passes the window, just a blur of dark, gone in an instant. How recent is this thing between him and Al? It feels old, like a hope he’s carried for a long time. Or maybe it was an experiment, or a misunderstanding, or a fleeting moment of desire. I hear Al and Adele at night sometimes, often enough to know Al must enjoy it. And I see the way he looks at her with affection, how he runs his hand across her hips when they pass in the hallway, the appreciation in his eyes when he watches her bend over to pick a record. I see him at the plant, the way he carries himself around the others, like a taken, married man. Whatever that was between him and Felix, I know he’s devoted to my sister, hungers for her in the way a husband’s meant to.

The minutes pass. Clément’s body turns soft, sinking quickly into sleep. Nathalie tosses and turns, fighting, always.

Brave Felix. To try. To be turned down.

Finally, Nathalie’s breathing is steady. The party is still in swing. A burst of laughter from inside the house, a faint hum from the yard.

Felix is in the living room when I emerge, crowded around the Victrola with Bernard and some of the others. Al’s at the table, playing cards with Lionel and three men from the plant.

Felix flashes his usual smile at seeing me. “Thought we’d lost you to the children’s bedtime.”

“You almost did. Join me out back for a cigarette? It’s stuffy in here.”

“I’ll be right out.”